Meh, I can take them all!
by wkz
Summary: Worm is a story containing Superheroes! Angst! It gets worse! Villains! Grief! It gets worse! Warlords! Bullies! Monsters! It gets even worse! Politics! Evil Conspiracies! Face-heel turns! The End of the World! And Doing the Wrong Things for Right Reasons! ... Gah, that sucks. Let's rewind to the start, add a little something more. Stir thoroughly, bake, and serve. Mmm... cake...
1. Arc 1: Training Montage 1

**Disclaimer**  
One Punch Man is a webmanga by One, and is also a manga redraw by Yusuke Murata (Eyeshield 21).  
It contains lots and lots of heroes, and has a simplistic apathetic classic hero as its main character. Track it down if you can; it's ridiculously absurd, but really good too.  
wkz most certainly does not own it.

Worm is a completed web-serialization by Wildbow.  
It contains lots and lots of villains, and has a complex proactive atypical villain as its main character. Track it down if you can; it's ridiculously lengthy, but really good too.  
wkz most certainly does not own it either.

Meh, I can take them all! is an ongoing fanfic crossover by wkz, who shamelessly stole material from both of the above.  
No prior knowledge of both sources are needed, but as with all fanfics knowledge of the source material will increase your enjoyment, as well as spoilers from both series will occur. Read at your own risk. (What exactly you risked, I have no idea)

* * *

**Arc 1: *Training Montage*  
Snip #1**

I knocked on the door. There was a muffled reply from the other side, and I entered as instructed. We laid eyes on each other during the small moments needed to close the door, the Director of the PRT in the middle of her lair and me, a jobless common branch office sales manager. We were about as hilariously mismatched in terms of power, status, responsibilities and power as it was humanely possible to do so without me being a lot younger, or bringing actual powers into the picture.

She waved her hand at one of the available seats, and I accepted the offer.

"Mr… Simon. I'm Director Piggot," she said, her sharp piercing eyes following my every move. Maybe she was sizing me up, I thought as I got comfortable. Maybe she needed to, as part of her job. One eye focused on me, taking in everything and evaluating my capabilities. The other facing inwards, taking in the situation, evaluating the possibilities. And between them, a brain on overdrive, running through a thousand plans, stratagems, and decisions a minute.

I most certainly wasn't. I wasn't even trying.

It was rude, but I still can't get over how FAT she was.

I am ashamed. But the thought had stuck, like barnacles, and refused to go away. I spoke first, more to scrape the metaphorical ship's hull of its unwanted guests rather than any wish to speak first. "So, why am I here?"

Disbelief clouded her features for a moment before she hid it expertly. "I'll be blunt," she said, "You're most likely a cape."

I was still scraping the hull when the dynamite that was her words hit me, the barnacles, the ship and the docks it was in, and blew the whole metaphorical thing to pieces. "I'm a cape?" I managed to stutter.

"You're most likely a cape."

"I'm most… ah. You don't know for sure."

"Not fully, but we're sure enough to have this meeting. How much do you know about powered individuals in general?"

"Absolutely nothing, ma'am. Other than the fact there's an awful lot of fighting in the world today."

"The shortest of summaries then. There is a lot of speculation on the subject, but it is generally agreed that to get powers, you have to a few conditions. One of them is the trigger event."

"I've heard of trigger events, at least." I interrupted.

I think she did not like that. "Explain."

"Huh?"

"Explain what you know, so we're on the same page."

"Oh. Erm… Bad things happened to someone, and they get powers from it."

She continued her icy stare at me as I paused.

"That's about it."

She sighed, and picked up the slack, "That's not all of it, but it'll suffice for now."

"And you believe I had a trigger event, Just now."

"And we know you had a trigger event."

"How?"

"Because we were there, 'just now'. We have people who recognize the symptoms…"

* * *

Two hours earlier, I, Simon Tama was a dejected pile of rejected material.

The interview had not gone well.

My car did not start.

A dog pissed on me as I waited to cross the road.

I realized my wallet was in the car, and got screamed at by the bus driver for wasting his time.

My car, with all four of its wheels missing, was merrily burning to the ground by the time I walked back.

And as I stared at the explosion which used to be my car, I saw screaming pedestrians run past me, _TOWARDS_ the exploding car.

I turned around. I looked upwards. And higher up. And I took a step back so I can look up a bit more.

A slug-like face with no nose, protruding eyes and a slit with too much teeth looked right back at me.

Well, fuck me.

We looked at each other for a long time, me and him. I think I got dripped on, his skin apparently producing slime and who knows what. His eyes waved around almost hypnotically, sometimes looking around, but mostly on me.

"Why aren't you running?" he rumbled more than spoke. "All of them did."

I did not reply.

The slit that made up his mouth twisted into a parody of a smile. "Nothing worth living for, eh?"

I suppressed the urge to reply.

"Seen a kid with a salt shaker around these parts?" The surprise must have shown on my face as he shifted his weight.

"No," I answered. Couldn't hurt to answer that question, however out of the left field that was.

"Well. So, I think you and I, we're very similar people." He walked past, patting me on the right shoulder and in the process depositing a lot of slime all over my upper arm, "I think I'll let you live, because of that."

I let out a breath I did not know I was holding.

"Except, you know," the voice was distant and soft, but audible enough, "I have powers. And you still suck. Suffer on, like I used to. Ho ho ho ho ho…"

Well, fuck me a lot.

* * *

"When you put it that way, it is possibly the worst moment of my life." I conceded.

The Director of the PRT continued in her quest to lower the room temperature of her room through her stare.

"But here's the thing. I did not have a trigger event or whatever it is called, because I. Don't. Have. Powers."

"Bull. Shit."

And now she was parroting my slow, deliberate, capitalized spoken emphasis.

"I really don't have…"

"Bullshit. You took down a Brute 5 all by yourself. And you say you don't have powers?"

"I had help."

"You have a kid skipping his third day of High School."

"I had bags and bags of salt courtesy of that kid's helpful directions and my tie as a makeshift slingshot. Against a naked guy who's powers are basically 'I'm a slug'. Which reminds me, the only reason why I'm here is because I'm broke. One of your people told me earlier that the PRT will foot the bill I owe that convenience store, so would you?"

She must think she have frost powers, the way she was staring at me.

"Look, Madam Pig… Got, is it? I really don't have powers. I don't think I gained powers, and I really still feel like I don't have powers here."

We continued to look at each other, the silence broken by the dripping of the thick, tough, congealed slime from earlier finally melting off and dropping in clumps from my shirt, my limbs, my body, my… everywhere.

"We will pay for the damages you incurred," the pig finally conceded, leaning back, "out of the reward for his capture. Now get out."

"Thank you very much for your time." I stood up, "I'll show myself out."

* * *

An hour of excessive paperwork, sitting through an officer's laments of ruined paperwork due to dripped slime, buying clothing from the gift ship (Armsmaster decal underwear, really?), borrowing a shower, and another hour of paperwork later, I walked out of the PRT building.

I had an ordeal and a hundred dollars out of a wasted days' worth of too much excitement… I really used up a lot of salt back then.

But I digress.

I had bruises all over, a grateful kid's thanks in the form of his pocket change, and my only set of somewhat expensive business attire ruined, in exchange for a day of bodily danger.

But above all, I also had an epiphany.

Capes aren't invulnerable.

It is possible to do good against them, even without powers.

And I think I have a new goal in life... nah, maybe a new hobby in life. Fighting against capes doesn't pay much, the evidence in the mere hundred or so dollars in my pocket.

All I need is some exercise, my muscles reminded me as they ached all over. Got to change that.


	2. Arc 1: Training Montage 2

**Snip #2**

Oh shit.

Oh shit oh fuck oh shit.

Oh fuck me, I'm in big trouble.

I could not even do fifteen pushups before collapsing into a twitching heap.

I was weak. I was less than weak. I was at the level of a child, or something about there. I was probably even less than that; I seem to recall the second last issue of the now out-of-print Guinness Book of World Records having an entry about a kid who can lift ten times his own weight… didn't it?

Never mind that, that child was an outlier, a suspected parahuman even, the encouraging half of my brain argued.

Never mind _THAT_, the traitorous half of my brain countered, I was an outlier in the complete opposite direction.

Oh fuckingly shitingly fuck.

I turned myself over to face the ceiling, choking in large gulps of air. It beats pretending to be a vacuum cleaner on my kitchen floor. I could not even stare at the ceiling, as the bare bulb tried its darnest to blind me. I was so worn out that I could not even sit up to avoid the bulb's glare, and had to shut my eyes.

And in doing so I retreated to the world of thoughts.

I wasn't that weak, was I? Seriously, I could do more than the fail I did just now?

Maybe the slime contained a toxin… Yes that was it. Maybe it would take more than a week before the muscle-weakening properties of the super cape slime would dissipate and…

I forcefully shut down the delusional, excuse-forming part of my personality even as I gave myself a hateful glare. A glare of hate at the negative portions of my mind, which was still gleefully applauding my decision to face the unpadded facts.

I gave him, me, my best glare. The mirror I could see through the open bedroom door helped.

But… at the end of the day, that negativity inside me was… correct. How in the world was I supposed to best anyone at all? I probably could not win in a fight against the ancient grandma in the corner apartment on the floor where I lived. How in the world was I supposed to win against people with powers, who have been gifted to be much better than the average homo sapiens with next to no training themselves?

How in the world am I going to beat anyone at all?

How in the world had I bested the slug cape?

The kid I rescued, that's how.

The child, who had frozen when he realized the slug-man was after him.

The life I had rescued with a flying leap. Who, in turn, had the balls to throw the entire contents of his salt-shaker at the slug-cape when he was standing triumphantly over my bruised, prone body.

The man-in-making, who while openly weeping at his fate, was bravely opening packet after packet, bag after bag, bottle after bottle of common salt, enduring though the repeated beatings after heavy beatings of the irate store owner even as he gave me my only chance of winning…

…

I sat up.

The child I rescued was weak, but he was also stronger than I could ever be.

I turned myself over. Palms pressed onto the floor at either side of me.

I was weak, I admitted to myself. I was a weakling, in every sense of the word.

But not anymore. I thought back to a week ago, when I had so much resolve. I willed myself into having the same resolve, now.

I pushed. A strong, blinding pain hit me, turning my world white even as it amplified with the movement of my burning muscles. It crushed me, forcing me to…

'Not Any More!' I shouted in my mind as I screamed out with my voice. There was no way I was going to quit now. I **WILL** do twenty pushups by the end of today. I will do thirty tomorrow.

I will do a hundred pushups by the end of the month, even if it killed me!

I pushed again and again and again through the blinding white pain.

…

Maybe a hundred pushups at the end of two months?

* * *

Fifteen, Fourteen, Thirteen, Twelve…

It was only half a year into my self-training. It was already half a year into my training.

Seven, Six, Five…

The pain came again and again, turning my world a familiar white.

Three…

Good. It was a good pain.

Two…

I nearly collapsed, nearly stopped there. 'No!' I declared to myself, 'Not when I was so close!'

One…

And…

Done!

I turned myself over, almost too weary to throw my hands up in the air in a clear sign of victory. I whooped and cheered with all my strength instead to compensate, to express my cheer at an impossible task well done!

I have finally done it!

I have finally done **Fifty** pushups!

At this rate, I will do a hundred by the end of the year! Progress!

The loud banging and shouting on both the ceiling and the floor shut me up quickly. My neighbors above and below me continued to complain sulphurously as the few specks of dust left over from half a year of neighborly complains wafted down and covered my prone form.

Still, I couldn't help but squee where I was.

Silently, of course. It was, after all, about two am at night.

* * *

I had no idea when exactly it started. I think it was two years into my own training or so by then.

But for the last month, since February or so, I had been seeing a familiar face. A girl, a fellow jogger, running at around the same times as I did, in the early mornings of the day before the world woke up.

She was probably in her mid-teens, her above-average tallness amplifying her thin and spindly body of an adult not yet grown into. She had long, black curly hair tied in a pigtail during her runs, and a pair of spectacles rounded out the look of the classic introvert.

Introvert or not, she would nod at me as she spotted me in the mornings, recently. Sometimes, she would even try to match my speed.

Some of the times, she would even succeed.

After all, she did not run as far as I did every morning. Without the needs of holding back her stamina, she could burn up her energy at a near sprint every morning, spitting off once we reached the Broadwalk, sometimes even at the Marketplace.

She would not know that my jogging route took me from Captain's Hill through the center of Brockton Bay to the beaches. Her route coincidentally met with mine near the end of this part, which would then continue along the beach near her house, through the Broadwalk and up through to the Market. I would usually leave her behind then, cutting straight through the Docks and back to Captain's Hill.

I figured that route would be about… ten kilometers? Coupled with my hundred squats, hundred situps and hundred pushups, that would be more than enough to make me strong enough, right?

But, again, I digress…

Ah.

There she was, again. It appeared she was waiting for me.

That was a first.

She joined me as we wordlessly ran at a near sprint towards the Broadwalk.


	3. Arc 1: Training Montage 3

**Snip #3**

"Wait." she said. It was the first word she had ever said to me, ever. This was, apparently, a day of firsts.

I slowed down to a stop in the middle of the Broadwalk. She needed that, choking and struggling as her body finally gave out. I almost had to reach out and help her as she stumbled, leaning on one of the handrails along the beach.

I did help her moments later; when you stop immediately after a strenuous run, do not ever stop moving. Walk around. It would do you good for your body.

I told her so.

And on shaky legs, she complied. Her legs were weak from the run, so weak she even fell once. That happened right as I was flipping back the cowl of my sweat shirt with both hands, so to my shame I did not catch her in time. I helped her up instead as she stammered, obviously embarrassed by her fall as she tried to say something, but unable to do so due to her still urgent need to breath. Eventually, she looked away.

Ah, to be young again.

I continued to wait, using up the time by 'falling' onto the ground and starting my push-ups. I might as well complete the hundred push-ups for today as I waited.

It took five minutes for her to recover her breath. It took five more minutes before she spoke up.

"You're a running machine, you know?"

"Thank you." I said on my eighty ninth push-ups. I choose to ignore the second, unspoken question. If she continued as long as I had (two years) she would attain my speed and endurance, easily.

"How far is your run by the way? At this pace, it shouldn't be much further than the Docks?"

"I start and stop at Capitol Hill." I said. Ninety four.

"What? That's… that's across town! You sprint across town every day, with that pace? Twice?"

One Hundred. "Yes. And if you would excuse me, I have to complete my run now." I got up and clapped my palms free of dust.

"Oh, erm… Sorry." She replied, her hands clasped low together in front of her. "I, ah… goodbye then, mister?"

"Simon. Simon Tama."

"Taylor Hebert. Goodbye Mr Tama. Sorry for taking up your time. The run was… informative."

I nodded politely, before I turned and jogged off.

"Wow, five kilometers a day. That has to be some..."

I almost facefaulted as I stumbled.

**WHAT**?

* * *

When a person finds out he is lacking, it is obvious he should try to rectify the mistake.

I had found out I was lacking. I had only ran five kilometers per day, every day. So, naturally, I took steps to rectify that.

It was three am at night, an hour when there would be no pedestrians. I ran down the empty streets and alleyways, looking right and left.

On the plus side, I had not realized how cooling running in the middle of the night was. It was enjoyable. The lack of screaming neighbors complaining about the time of the night was also surprisingly pleasant. I resolve to go on night runs in the future, leaving the more room-bound exercise to earlier hours.

On the other hand, I had not realized how places at night could look vastly different from the daytime, especially with the whole place covered in shadow. And there were plenty of shadows in the Docks; only a third of the streetlamps were working, and not very well at that.

In short, I was lost somewhere in the Docks.

Nevertheless, I continued with my usual pace through the Docks, looking right and left for helpful people. It was deep in the middle of the night, but surely there would be some…

Ah, there we are.

"Hey!" I shouted, as I ran towards four people wearing jeans and leather jackets with metallic ornaments, standing around a barrel set alit.

They took one look at me, swore, and took out sticks and knives and a gun, all pointed towards me.

Oh boy. Not again.

* * *

Five seconds later, they were down and out.

This was the sixth group to have done so tonight. It can't be my appearance, was it? I was after all wearing a sweatshirt with a hood over my head, and sweatpants. That should be perfectly natural attire for a person running for exercise, wasn't it?

Anyway, I made sure the unconscious bodies were comfortable, before I looked around. Nope. Still could not recognize the place. But the local art was amazing. "E88" it said, in bright vibrant colors.

Shrugging my shoulders, I picked up the pace again.

* * *

I spotted the crowd as I turned the corner out of the alleyway. It was quite a large crowd of people, and I realized they were crowded around another person speaking to them quite loudly. The speaker was wearing a metal mask as he orated, gesturing as his voice spoke about something with passion.

"… and when you see one of those punks on the ground, don't assume! Don't hesitate! You… huh?"

He looked right at me as I approached, the crowd following his sight soon after. I had by then reached the outskirts of the group, and I circled around them until I was in front of the crowd.

"Hi" I said.

"… what do you want?" he challenged, gruffly.

"I'm a bit lost actually. Can you tell me where the trainyards are?"

"Oh. It's just over there." The helpful speaker casually pointed behind him with a thumb. "Just follow the road, and you'll be there after about five minutes of walking."

"Ah, thank you, kind sir." I said, and I resumed my jogging…

… only to be stopped by a hand on my shoulder as I reached the speaker.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" he growled.

"Err… no?"

"Do you think I'm stupid?" he shouted, as he flared. His hands and clothes caught fire as I jumped back in surprise.

'He's a parahuman.' I thought.

I looked over at the crowd. To the last, they had weapons out and ready; homemade flails, sticks, knives of all sizes and a few handguns were out and ready in their hands.

'And he has a gang, too.' I realized. I berated myself for not noticing earlier, as I turned back to the obvious leader of the gang.

" 'o 'u dink I'm 'tupid!?" he roared again, having gained half again his height as armor plates grew on his skin. " ye a SPY, 'n I'm gonna BEAT 'u UP!"

And I was going to get into fight. With a cape.

Well, why not? This was what I had trained for, wasn't it? I readied myself and brought my fists up into a guard.

The burning man twice as tall as he used to be chuckled. " 'u? 'ight 'e? I'm **LUNG**, 'n I'm…"

I punched, aiming for his chest.

He fell.

… … …

… … … … … …

… … … … … … … … … … … …

Huh?

I looked down at the parahuman. The fires he had generated had died out, leaving him naked in the middle of the street. He groaned a bit as he laid there on his back, but otherwise did not get up. He was rapidly shrinking now that he was unconscious, the shrinking closing up the open and bleeding hole in his chest in the process.

I sighed with relief as I spotted his chest rising and falling. I did not know much about first aid, but a moving chest without too much blood should be a good sign he was still alive and well, so that was good.

But still, that was… anti-climactic. Maybe if…

I looked at Lung's gang. The crowd looked at their leader, prone on the ground. They looked at me. They looked at each other.

And as one, they scattered. Weapons clattered onto the ground, abandoned. Some were screaming incomprehensible language at the top of their voices, while others tripped on the abandoned weapons, fell, got up, and tripped again. A few even knocked themselves out as they tripped, and yet others crawled rather than getting up, making surprisingly good time on all fours.

In five minutes, I was the only one left standing on the street.

Meh, must be some C-lister and his group of wannabes, I sigh to myself as I resumed my run towards the train graveyard.

* * *

Over the prone body of Lung, on the rooftop of the nearby building, a girl in a mask watched as the very familiar man ran away.

Eventually, she whispered, "What…"

* * *

Three blocks away, four teenagers astride on gigantic beasts looked at the tiny prone bodies on the ground in the distance. Eventually, they reacted.

"What…"

"The… Fuck?"

"Ooooo..."

"… grrrrrr…"

* * *

Four streets away, in a hastily stopped motorbike, a bulkily armored man in silver with blue relief watched a playback on a monitor built into his vehicle. He clicked and prodded on his instrumentation, checking the readings again. And again. And a third time. And yet again.

Eventually, he came to a single professional conclusion.

"What…"

* * *

Over in another world, a woman about to get into bed asked a single question.

She paused. She stopped.

She asked again.

"What…"


	4. Arc 1: Training Montage 4

**Snip #4**

The girl, 'Tailor Herbert' I think, was waiting for me again today. That was the second time she had done so, and twice in a row at that.

I ran past her, as usual. She started running, following me on the coincidentally similar running path. As usual.

Unfortunately for the both of us, today was one of the days she could not keep up with my pace. It was as if she had arrived tired, her stamina spent before she had even started. As we moved towards the Broadwalk, the girl struggled and nearly stumbled several times, only managing to keep within sight of myself through what I assumed to be sheer force of will.

It was a laudable effort, but the lack of two years of foundation showed when she finally gave up within sight of the Marketplace.

Too bad, I thought as the gap between us extended. I was looking forward to seeing if she wanted to have a conversation again. Although it would have eaten into my training time, I would not mind talking with her again; I had been lonely and isolated for all of my years of training after all.

But I will not slacken my pace one bit, not for such reasons.

Another day then, perhaps.

* * *

I continued my run as I entered the Docks. With the usual absence of pedestrians in this area I was able to pick up my pace. The constant ache in my muscles built up again as bright spots drifted across my vision, but I am heartened even as I struggled against the complaints of my body. It was the proof my exercise regime was paying off. I had gotten better, so much so that the pain was not even noticeable at times.

The neighborhood continued to be empty, especially this early in the morning. I ran past empty warehouses and abandoned businesses, a sign of Brockton Bay's decline as a shipping hub. From what little information I had overheard, this downturn was similar for most, if not all, of the major harbors of the world.

With an actual sea monster prowling the seas, businesses of the world were forced to shift the majority of their cargo transportation into the skies instead. There were still some traffic by sea, but the days of super tankers and mega container ships, otherwise known as eggs in a vulnerable basket, were history. And with the starvation of the sea-bound economy, harbors naturally began to rot.

I recalled a time when I had once hoped to have worked here, a younger self just out of school. Now, with almost all of the businesses here having moved away or gone bankrupt, it was a good thing I did not.

Occasionally, as I continued through the Docks, I would see the homeless and the jobless, people taking advantage of the freely available abandoned housing in the area. This early in the day, most of the gangsters would have retired for the 'night', and so this was the time the homeless would carefully poke their heads out in relative safety. Dressed in all of their filthy but precious possessions, they would go about their business, doing whatever it was they did.

They would greet me in various ways as I passed; my daily run in a place otherwise deserted having made me a local fixture for the mornings in the Docks. I would be polite when I could in turn, even as I ran without pause.

I would nod at an older woman dragging a pilfered shopping cart filled with cardboard boxes.

I would give a short greeting to a small group as they huddled around a barrel with a dying fire. They turned to look at me as they smiled and waved, each wearing a mismatch of thrown-away clothes.

I would wave at the hermit ever present in the shadow of the doorway, and he would respond as he always did, with the middle finger up into the air as he snarled.

I would nod at another pair, blocking off the sidewalk with a loud, angry discussion of some kind. The contrast between the participants were as different as night and day; the smaller and possibly younger of the two having dropped his overcoat in a pile around his feet, revealing a red jacket over a green shirt, and a pair of blue jeans. And the larger person was pushing the youth around in his armor of steel and technology, a bulky statement of strength lined in blue and... huh?

I slowed my pace as I approached. It was not often you see a cape in the middle of the Docks. And if he or she was even one step out of line…

I did not need to eavesdrop, as their conversation was just that loud. I suspect I would be able to hear most of it on the other side of the street from where all of us were. As I slowed my pace even further, I managed to piece together what was said.

Apparently the obviously-not-homeless-kid was being interrogated by the obviously-cape-in-some-form, something about a cape fight. The poor teenager was unable to get away even as he tried to do so time and again, due to two oversized armored fists grabbing onto both sides of his jacket. He was also unable to answer the cape's question satisfactory as he was bombarded by question after question from behind the helmet.

The hero really did not like "I don't know!" as an answer for some reason.

And yes, I had described the cape as a "hero". I had finally recognized the armor he was wearing. That silver and blue armor was the outfit of a local cape hero, one who was quite a big shot in cape affairs in Brockton Bay. I dug into my recollections; he was called Arm… something? Or was it 'Limb'? 'Master of Limbs'? Ah, right, I remember now.

Armsmaster.

I prepared to ignore the scene as I squeezed past the both of them from behind the hero, running on the little bits of sidewalk not occupied by the street-side interrogation. I was not going to stick my nose into a hero's affairs. Heroes would do what was right after all; it was all in the job description.

Next thing I knew, there was a scream. A girly scream. A panicked shout of high-pitched panic, too sharp, thin and high up in the octaves to have possibly came from a human. A sound that demanded immediate attention, even while giving anyone who heard it an immediate headache.

I snapped my head around even as I continued to run, back to the hero and his perp.

The not-a-homeless youth was struggling against Armsmaster as he tried to pull away with all his strength, still screaming and babbling something about "he" and "death" and "here", all in that girly pitch. Despite being covered by the back of the hero, I could still see as he punched, pulled, tugged, kicked and grabbed at the hero, who tried his best to fend off the hits even while holding onto his suspect. And just as suddenly, the youngster collapsed bodily onto the hero, a strength-less body with its strings cut off. His face came into view, foam flowing from his mouth as the white of his eyes showed.

As I rounded the nearby corner of my usual route, the cape on the side of good had him laid down onto the ground, with one of the gauntleted fingers pressed against the side of his helm, obviously using some sort of communication device to call for some assistance.

I shrugged, and continued my run. There was a hero on the scene after all, he will take care of the poor, poor kid.

But one thing was for sure.

I got to get me one of those jackets. It was holding up amazingly well from the abuse from the teenager, despite all that tugging and pulling against Armsmaster's grip.

* * *

"I'm home" I said to no one in particular. Walking into the apartment I lived in with no one else, I kicked off my shoes and shucked off my sweatshirt. I entered the bathroom as I threw the damp clothing in the direction of the empty basket for dirty clothing.

I retraced two steps backwards, and looked towards the basket.

A cockroach disappeared under the nearby washing machine.

Dammit. It was going to take forever to get that bug out of there.


	5. Arc 1: Training Montage 5

**Snip #5**

"Damned things." I exclaimed.

I attacked once again. Pushing out with care and precision, I kept my palm flat and vertical. It slammed the enemy into the wall with what I had gauged as just enough strength.

I withdrew my arm.

The wall was unmarked.

More irritatingly, the mosquito flew away.

"Damned mosquitoes." I exclaimed again, slapping both of my palms together where I had last seen the mosquito. I brought my hands back to my face, wanting to verify the dead irritant with my own eyes.

I separated my palms. No dead mosquito.

Right before my eyes, a bloodsucker landed on top of my index finger and flew up. Another mosquito appeared, landing on the other index finger, before it too flew off.

"Damned bloodsuckers!" I roared, clenching my fists by the side. They were _MOCKING ME!_

"Shadaaup! It's one AM at night!" my neighbors shouted back, complete with the familiar knocking sounds of broom handles on ceilings, walls and floors.

Opps. "Sorry!" I called out.

"_SHUT! UP!_" they called back.

I believe it was time to exit left, to let tempers cool down…

* * *

As I started my nightly run, I pondered my situation again.

A week ago, I took apart my apartment trying to get at one cockroach. With any other pest I would have thought of it as excessive, but I had read somewhere that cockroaches could breed and multiply really fast, so I took no chances. It was an hour and a displaced washing machine, fridge and demolished washroom later when I finally cornered the slick-black bug and squashed it.

That was when I noticed the first mosquito, the first of many.

My room had been plagued with the little bloodsuckers ever since… "Plagued" might be too strong a word, but it fit. There would always be three or four of the little insects, buzzing up and down my room when it used to be insect-free before, keeping me up at night when I tried to sleep.

More importantly, I could not get rid of them. At all.

It was surprisingly hard to just get one of them killed despite my speed, for some reason. And even with three hundred and sixty two insect kills _(I counted. Oh believe me I counted)_, there were _STILL_ around three or four mosquitoes, buzzing about my room.

I had even used three bug-bombs on my apartment thus far. Collectively, all that did was to give my apartment a now permanent funny smell, kept me out of my home for four or so hours per use and was worth only a short reprieve measured averaging half an hour before the mosquitoes moved right back in.

I did not get it. Was this some insect karma at work? Did the cockroach curse me with all its strength at the moment of death, only for it be heard by insect God, who then proceeded to unleash an insect plague in my room? Was I just that unlucky to piss off an insect prophet?

I was still pondering this question while running on automatic when I suddenly, finally noticed my surroundings. Or lack of surroundings as it was. All I could see was an inky blackness, a rolling carpet of dark and darker which continued to move in front of my eyes. Sound was also gone, removed. I could maybe make out a muffled something or two in short bursts now and then, but otherwise there was nothing meaningful I could use.

If not for the floor under my feet and the feeling of gravity, I would not even know up from down.

I readied myself for a fight. After all, with the little I knew of cape culture, you _ASK_ before you used your powers on someone. Unless a cape was attacking another cape, at which all bets were off.

The darkness dissipated.

I saw three quadruped monsters. I saw the four figures astride on the monsters. They were about three hundred meters away, about a whole block… which should take me about a few seconds to cover.

I took my first step when I saw one of them waving arms every which way.

"FRIENDLIES! WE JUST WANT…" she shouted.

I took another step forward.

"WE JUST WANT TO TALK!" She shouted again, quite a bit higher pitched than her voice was earlier, and gesturing with her arms a lot faster. "SERIOUSLY FRIENDLY HERE! FRIENDLY TALK!" Another of them whistled, and the monstrous beasts took a few steps back.

I stopped.

They stopped.

There was silence between us for a good five minute or so as we eyed each other. The beasts would occasionally move, shifting their weight. Their riders? Not so much.

"So talk." I said with a raised voice, finally decided. Despite them appearing before me, they would not take the initiative after all. "Come here, and say what you want to say."

The people who had stopped my evening run looked at each other uncertainly, before the one who did the arm waving and another wearing a motorcycle helmet disembarked from their beasts.

"I swear to god, Tats, if this happens again, I'm going to hit you" I overheard from Helmet-head, who had a skull drawn onto his helmet and was also wearing an entire body's worth of dark leathers. "Hard."

"Sorry," this 'Tats' person replied. She was clad much differently, in a skin tight costume full of black and white. A domino mask served as a disguise for her face, and she was wearing a slash of some kind with a bulky item inside. "I took a guess and ran with… _oh fuck_"

"Excuse me?"

"He can hear us from here."

Helmet-head stopped his advance. Turning, he asked softly. "_How broken is he? Seriously?_"

"He can hear that too."

"Fuck."

"Yea, Fuck."

This delay was starting to piss me off.

"Grue? Doubletime. Now." 'Tats' said suddenly, before I even had to say anything. They practically ran the entire hundred meters towards me, and stopped just short of five meters away.

"So, hi." 'Tats' spoke up first this time. "I don't think you know, but you saved our lives a week ago."

I raised an eyebrow before I could catch myself.

"Yes you did." the one called 'Grue' replied. "The guy called 'Lung'? Big guy who can get bigger and make flames? A week ago? A single fist through the chest?"

I nodded my understanding as I remembered. "That third-rater? Yes, I remember."

"_Wha… Lung isn't some third…_" Grue started muttering under his breath before a sharp poke from 'Tats' onto his elbow cut him off. She continued. "He was going to attack us. So… in a roundabout way, you saved us. Thanks."

"No problem. But that does not explain who you are, why you didn't introduce yourselves before saying that, or why you attacked me with the shadow thing."

"Thought you might want to know up front why we stopped you. I'm Tattletale, and this is Grue. There's Bitch and Regent in the background. We're called the Undersiders."

"And sorry about the shadow. Tattletale here thought it was a good idea." Grue said, pointing behind him to the beasts and the other people. "You were running too fast for our dogs to catch up…"

"… but I was wrong. Sorry." Tattletale picked up from where Grue stopped. "Anyways, as a show of gratitude, this is yours. All yours, no strings attached."

She dug into and picked out a lunchbox from the slash. After making two fake throws to indicate her intention, she threw the lunchbox across the empty space between us. I caught it easily.

The box was slightly faded and scuffed, but I recognized the picture immediately. It was a picture of the Sentai-Rangers, the now deceased cape team from Kyushu.

I raised an eyebrow again as I looked back. This box was old, out of print even. But I did not understand how it…

"Open it." Tattletale prompted.

My curiosity getting to me, I did. And I saw money. Eight stacks of bills, tied with paper bands, each having words saying "$250" in permanent marker. That would mean…

"Two grand." Tattletale added up for me before I had the total in my head.

Two thousand dollars. _TWO_ thousand dollars. **Two thousand**… oh wait.

"What's the catch?" I asked back, trying to hide my internal glee.

"Just a showcase of goodwill." Grue said with sincerity. "And maybe a bit of incentive to count us among your friends when we meet each other in the street."

"That's all. No other tricks. Honest." Tattletale said, prompting Helmet-head to sharply turn his head towards her.

"_Aren't we going to…_"

"_Not now. I'll explain later._ Really. There might be other tricks, but there's no more, now. We decided to drop them. Honest."

For the third time, I raised my eyebrows at them, but not because of lack of facts this time. These 'Undersiders' were clearly planning something. Maybe they were not exactly clean themselves? Or maybe they were asking me not to bust their ass on something illegal? Or…

… then again, I could finally make rent for the month. And the last few months too! Yay!

"Ok. Glad to be of service." I said.

I could always accept the money for services already rendered. Any future evil acts these teenagers did in front of me would NOT be influenced by the money I had in my hands. Or so I repeated to myself maybe twice or trice in the short moments between the previous sentence and the next.

"Stay safe kids, and your 'Undersiders' group too."

Yup, that should be bombastic enough for goody good guys of goodness. Comic books really helped me here.

"Yea," Grue replied, sounding unsure of himself. "Yea, we'll do that."

"Sorry about the interruption." Tattletale added. "I…"

Whatever Tattletale wanted to say was lost as a densely packed cloud of insects of all shapes and sizes descended on all of us.


	6. Arc 1: Training Montage 6

**Snip #6**

I turned my head to look at the false cloud in the moments before it reached me, and beyond me the two Undersider kids. A fast moving border of darkness almost like Grue's own, the cloud exploded from the dark shade in between the trees of Capitol Hill's parks. They buzzed as a faceless blanket as they covered the night sky, the combined noise of their flight droning out everything that could be heard, a silence brought about by too much sound.

After me, Tattletale was the next to notice. She barely had time to shout out a wordless warning as she cringed, turning together with the Grue kid to run towards her mounted allies. Her head start would not matter in the end though; the edge of the cloud would be upon us moments later. Unless I intervened.

Not that I actually _THOUGHT_ of doing so. Maybe I had been conditioned after an entire week of schooled torment, but my reaction to the bugs was almost automatic. I spun around, my right hand outstretched as I moved the limb quickly in a fast snap.

A gash appeared in the cloud of insects, a thick line forming in the crowded insects as if erased from the air itself. Behind the cloud, the trees rustled loudly, disturbed by what was left of the wind I generated.

If only I had found out about the effects of this move a week ago, or had at least used it for the first time outside of my apartment. But I digress.

Now facing the cloud, I planted both feet firmly onto the ground. Putting my right arm onto my left shoulder, I did the same movement as earlier. And again, and again, alternating my strokes with my left and right hands.

The large cloud lost its cohesion as large sections of insects were destroyed by my swipes. The shape warped, shifting as it crumbled and separated. Instead of the singular ominous blanket from before, I could now make out individual components, struggling to regroup. Flies, cockroaches and bees scattered each way… and mosquitoes too. Damn those things, mosquitoes in their thousands were also inside the mob of insects.

And the damage I had done... While the concrete running path I was standing on was carpeted by a thin layer of dead insects, I could easily see that the dead paled compared to those still remaining in the cloud. It was the best indicator that my slashes of wind had not really done much to the surprisingly resilient insect clouds, especially as I could see entire lines of reinforcements making their way out of the forests to replenish what was lost.

Time to try something else then.

I narrowed my eyes to slits as I focused inwards, both of my hands bent at the elbows by my sides. I breathed in, as calmly as I could yet as fast as I should.

And with great speed and strength, I clapped both my palms together shouting "Hah!"

I opened my eyes after the act, looked ahead of me, then all around.

The already reformed cloud of insects jerked, drifting backwards slowly. Hundreds of thousands _(I don't care to count that mess, you know. But that seemed like a reasonable ball-park figure)_ of bug eyes seemed to be looking right back at me, cringing at an attack that never came.

Oh~Kay. The clap did nothing.

I shall never use Manga as a reference guide to killer moves ever again. Not without trying it out for real first, at least.

But maybe if…

I separated my palms to the sides again as I closed my eyes, breathing in and out slowly, two, three times.

And once again, I clapped my palms together again, together with the mandatory shout.

The cloud of insects hovered in place, giving an unnatural stillness the shifting cloud in the aftermath of the second clap. A narrow layer there bent itself sideways, a very human-like expression of puzzlement.

I separated my palms to the sides yet again, taking my time to breath, slowly. This time, I kept my eyes wide open.

Which was when I noticed a change had occurred; all the insects that formed the cloud suddenly turned slightly, looking away from me and towards a spot behind my back. Whoever controlled these bugs must have realized their mistake; I hoped I had bought enough time for those Undersider kids to get away.

The next moment, the cloud flowed around me in a wave, speeding towards Tattletale and Grue, who were still on foot, but had by now almost reached their… transportation _(Those were dogs? Serious?)_. I could barely hear Tattletale's yelp of panic over the buzzing as she noticed the cloud of bugs switching targets. One of her mounted companions followed that up with a whistle… and one of the beasts chomped down on the girl. I saw another of the beasts repeating the process on Grue, before everything was suddenly covered by unnatural darkness.

The insect cloud did not stop for anything. Darkness ate up darkness as an obvious cape power rushed into another.

I watched, waiting.

About a minute later, Grue's dark cloud dissipated, leaving behind the more physical dark cloud. It hovered on the spot for a moment, drifting towards and away from me, before it too dispersed.

Now wasn't _THAT_ interesting.

"Especially the part where the cloud of insects had every opportunity and reason to attack you, but did not do so."

Yup, especially…

I blinked, and turned my head.

"I finally found you!" Armsmaster stood a few paces away, his halberd raised in his hand and pointed towards me. "If you would come with me for questioning?"

How a man armored up to his gills in clunky metal managed to sneak up on me, I may never know.

"It… It's not his fault!"

I turned my head again. And face palmed.

Ok, a Protectorate Hero being sneaky is fair game, but a teenaged Ward managing to sneak up on me with all those buzzing insects around her? I may really never know the answer to that.


	7. Arc 1: Training Montage Interlude 1

**Interlude #1**

I stumbled. Almost blind with my sweat in my eyes, I nearly fell if not for a convenient railing. I clung onto that railing as if my life depended on it; I somehow _knew_, with all of my being, that if I fell now I would never get up.

I was out of breath, my lungs burning, yet every intake of air was an agony of cold, sharp air in the furnace of my body. At the same time, my body seemed like it was breaking apart. My arms and legs felt as if they had been stabbed multiple times up and down the lengths of my limbs. Pain and suffering, a punishment for foolish actions, for breaking limits beyond what was necessary and sane.

Yet, in this depth of torturous existence, I was not surprised that I was so very _happy_.

Today was only the first time I had completed a run beside my still-nameless running partner, from start to finish, and without a head start of any kind. Ever since I noticed his reoccurring presence in my morning runs, since I realized the insane pace he maintained constantly from start to finish, I had decided to match him pace for pace. It was a goal I had set for myself on a whimsy, yet a goal I had unerringly pushed myself towards.

I was so happy, because this was one of a few times I actually managed to set a near impossible goal, and fulfill it against all odds.

Something about this twigged in my thoughts, pointing out something about me and myself. But for now, I was just too tired and fulfilled to even think about what that conclusion was.

"Hey. Walk around. You don't want to stand still after a short run." My mystery pace setter advised me, his face hidden in the shadows of the hood of his gray sweatshirt.

I think those were also the first words he spoke to me, ever. I would have startled, if there were any strength left to move my body with. I would have smiled, if my mouth was not so busily sucking in breath after blessed breath. Every muscle, every joint of my body seemed united in their current purpose to broadcast pain, radiate weakness.

Still, I managed to move somehow. And immediately after, I found out my legs were not fully up to the task. Compensating with the strength of my equally useless arms, I took a small step along the railing, and then another.

I looked at the stranger, a person who had occupied my thoughts lately. It was two months ago, almost to the day, that I had first met him. He had simply breezed by in his astounding running speed back then, making a mockery of my failing running efforts in just a few mere seconds. Ever since, I had kept an eye out for him.

If I was the slightest bit honest with myself, I initially did so in childish, petty anger. That was soon replaced by depression and inadequacy, futility and denial, as I found out just how different we were on our morning runs. Jealousy followed, as well as a simmering cold anger at the unfairness of the world.

But then a thought occurred to me, a thought which grew and grew; I had cape powers. The power to control bugs, a weak power. But he probably had none of that. He had less than me, yet I felt he was somehow the better.

Why?

I had not found the answer, yet. But I felt as if, if I followed him and got to understand, I might find out.

I might find out something else too, as once again I tried to peer into the shadows of his hood. He was probably Asian judging from the color of his hands, and he had a sharp clean shaven chin, but that was all I knew. My image of what I dreamt he could look like popped up in my mind, a construction fuelled by sweet dreams and too much foreign-imported…

That was when he flipped his cowl back.

My earlier illusion shattered into itty little bits as I stumbled, hard. The crook of my arm managed to catch the handlebar of the railing beside me, but my lower half still ended up mostly on the floor.

I looked up again, as if I by looking again I could rewrite what I saw earlier.

An egg-shaped face looked back at me, the sharp eyes of an Asian descent below stern, sharp brows. He was young, but was definitely not around my age bracket, maybe somewhere around twenty-something?

And he was completely bald.

_Serves me right._ I berated myself as the splinters of my imagination shattered even more. _Way to go with the childish, girlish, high bar you'd set for him, self._

Although… there _was_ something about the bald look…

**_GAH! BEGONE, FOUL THOUGHTS!_**

_Why not? He **is** cute…_

_Oh no! I did **not** just think that!_

I spent so much time in the mind-numbing internal cringe, I did not know how much time had passed by the time I broke out of. All I knew was that I had walked back and forth quite a number of times along the railing, and by then he was already on the floor, doing pushups.

Had I offended him? I was about to apologize, but I did not want to interrupt him in the middle of his exercise. It would be rude, but if I did not say anything now… still… but… if… maybe… _oh, Seriously Taylor Hebert, **say something**_!

"You're a running machine, you know?"

Great. Just…

"Thank you." He replied. I did not think there was any anger in his voice. Nor annoyance, mockery, or anything negative in any way.

Oh. That worked.

Seizing on that bit of straw as I struggled from drowning conversationally, I continued, "How far is your run by the way? At this pace, it shouldn't be much further than the Docks?"

That was my _NEXT_ goal: He obviously started somewhere before my running route, and ended after. I would now try to match him from start to finish. _HIS_ start to…

"I start and stop at Capitol Hill." The answer drifted up from below.

What? That's… that's across town! He sprints across town every day, with that pace? Twice? That… that's insane! How could I ever match such an accomplishment?

All I could think of the next five minutes was how small I felt.

Eventually, I came to a single conclusion: Maybe I should try the hero outing I had planned earlier instead. It really did seem like an easier task to accomplish than just simply running right about now…

* * *

I stared down from where I was, in the shadows of an edge of the building over the scene. The street below had gone quiet; the only sounds the groaning of the wounded unconscious. Yet, I did not move from the safe perch where I hid. I was simply too surprised to do anything.

Even after the event had happened right in front of my eyes, I still found myself doubting what I saw.

Simon Tama, my unofficial running mate for two months, speedster extraordinaire but otherwise an unassuming person, a kind bald man who was gentlemanly and polite to a fault, _Just Took Out **LUNG**_.

My mind was on repeat. I probably would have stayed there longer than was safe… But luckily for me, someone slammed the stop button for me when he stood up, looked around, had a sudden expression change into outright horror and ran away with both arms up in the air, screaming all the way.

Woah! I knew it! _I knew it_! Simon Tama had _powers_!

He was probably Velocity! That would explain his running speed. Except it was well known Velocity could not affect the world while he was speed-boosted. It was the only reason why he had not singlehandedly cleaned up Brockton Bay by now. So, no. Mr Tama could not possibly be Velocity.

Armsmaster? Maybe, but that punch… was it possible with a Tinker device? Wait, no. Armsmaster had a beard… unless it was a false beard, to conceal his true identity? But… Maybe I should shelve this.

Assault? PHO vs threads had extensively discussed his powers, and the general consensus was that he could punch hard enough… but that usually needed someone to hit him first. So, no.

Triumph? Sonics. No.

A villain? NO, No, no, no, no. Seriously, no. There was no way Simon Tama could be a villain.

My options depleted, I went back to thinking about the only 'maybe' on the list, Armsmaster. It even fit to a degree; despite being a Tinker, Armsmaster is also a highly trained combatant without the common weakness of Tinkers, a skilled fighter even without his tools. Official PRT press releases even said he trained just as much as he Tinkered.

Maybe his insane runs across town were part of his training? And if he had a Tinker device on his hand when he punched? Oh, and maybe he ran away simply to protect his civilian persona? Maybe…

Gravel crunched behind me. I turned sharply around, even as the person together with me on the rooftop said, "Hey."

"Are you going to fight me?" The hero standing on the same roof I was on said again. Despite the haze of my panic, I could still recognize the armor he wore, the blue lines on the edges of silver armor plates.

Armsmaster.

But that was impossible! If I was correct in my assumptions, he just ran past me… or did he?

Then again, Tinker. He probably just popped himself into a phone booth somewhere and came out fully armored five seconds later.

His uncovered mouth opened to say something else, but he stopped. He leaned forward instead. "Are you all right? What did you see?"

"I… I…" That was all I could manage.

_Maybe not_, I thought to myself as I got an up-close view of Armsmaster's armored physique, especially the chiseled bearded square jaw sticking out from the bottom of his half-helmet.

* * *

I was on a bus, in the attire I usually wore for school. It was, however not the usual bus I took in the mornings. It was a suburbs route, a looping path travelling along the circumference of town.

I did not regret skipping school one bit. It actually felt better, to be out from under the terrible trio's thumbs.

Nor did I regret bugging Mr Tama _(quite literally)_ earlier today. It was an act born from a desperate last attempt, after failing to keep up with the pace I managed yesterday. But I had reasons, at least. I had a late night _(so did Mr Tama!)_, and I was exhausted from yesterday _(he fought Lung!)_. And… _(shaddup, internal justifications! Do you know how pathetic you sounded?)_…

Yea, my excuses sounded pathetic even to myself _(Great. Just great. What did I just do to myself?)_.

The bus lurched into motion once more, freed of the red light of the intersection. I reached out with my powers once again, searching for a familiar feeling. A block later, I finally got the sense of a familiar bug, just in time it seems as it cut out in death. I hijacked four mosquitos to mark the spot as I smiled to myself.

Let's see what kind of cape you are, Mr Simon Tama.

* * *

An excellent independent hero, as it turned out.

I had observed Mr Tama for a week now. He apparently took two runs per day; the first I knew of in the mornings, and another run in the middle of the night. A week of uninterrupted daily three am runs.

And despite the lack of a costume, he would charge though the upscale haunts of the E88, blaze through the Docks of the AZN Bad Boys, as well as covering the small rotten spots in between controlled by the Merchants. He was out kicking ass and taking names, jumping all of the gangsters without much of a preamble other than a single "Hey!" or "Excuse me!"

He had not run into a single powered Villain thus far, but with the mountain of unpowered villains he left behind him there was no doubt of his allegiance to the side of good. But he appeared to be working alone. There were no visits to any known PRT or Protectorate stations, no talks with the local police forces. The sum total of his interaction with **anyone** at all was a trip to the supermarket.

There was no telling when he would be set upon by villains wanting payback for his nightly activities, and working alone he would have no support. No backup. Nobody to come to help.

Except me, Mr Tama's self-appointed tail and backup.

I let out a breath, rubbing my hands in the cool hours of the morning, reviewing what I knew of his usual routes. I would follow discreetly behind him again when he left the apartment, keeping up with him only by taking a much smaller circle through Brockton Bay on my bicycle. Still, Mr Tama's amazing running speeds would mean blind spots here and there as I struggled to keep up, but I figured nobody would attempt to ambush a cape in the areas around the Broadwalk anyways, not with the hired security guards on the prowl.

They would be more likely to attack him in the middle of somewhat lawless areas such as the Docks, or ambush him in hidden spots just like right here in the middle of Capitol Hill Park. Yup, just like so, mounted on four monsters while clouding him in darkness…

I jolted. _They ARE ambushing him here in Capitol Hill Park!_

I cursed myself for my inattentiveness as I abandoned my bicycle and raced forward from my vantage point, gathering the bugs in the park into a massed cloud. In the distance, barely seen through the trees, I could just dimly make out two of the villains charging towards Mr Tama, obviously having dismissed the cloud of darkness surrounding him as the three monsters hung back. My path took me out of sight then, running down a set of stairs from the balcony I had been waiting on.

I checked my gathered bugs when I reached the bottom of the lengthy stairs. It was large, but there were too few venomous insects to my tastes. Still, there was no time. Mr Tama had won against Lung, but that may or may not be a sucker punch, and he was being attacked by at least five beings with powers! I had to help, and now!

I sent forth my bugs in a wave of destruction.

A large hole appeared in the bugs almost immediately.

I blinked, as more slashes appeared in the cloud. Someone was actively destroying the bugs in large masses, using waves of wind. I cycled through my recollection of PHO threads, trying to identify the power…

… and I got it. StormTiger of the E88. Mr Tama was being attacked by the E88 capes!

Taking out the phone I was given, I pressed the button sequence that had been pointed out to me, and immediately re-pocketed it. Now, all I had to do is to keep Mr Tama safe, until backup for the backup arrives. Until Armsmaster and his Protectorate arrives.

I did not like to do so, but I doubt I could provide much assistance against one of the largest Villain groups in Brockton Bay.

I finally ran into a spot where I could view the situation. Backing my bugs off a bit as I reached a corner I could peek around. I could see the three beasts nearby, and two retreating figures a bit further than them, running as fast as they could.

Wait, a… The person attacking was not… Those 'villains' were not who…

Never mind, there was a way of salvaging the night. There were still two villains on foot, the capture of at least one of them would…

* * *

My jaw dropped.

_Way to go, Taylor!_ I thought as I saw Armsmaster pointing his trademark weapon at Mr Tama. _Why do I always make things worse!?_

I stepped out, one thought repeating again and again in my mind.

Got to fix this.


	8. Arc 2: The Boss & Loose Cannons 7

**Arc 2: * The Boss and his Loose Cannon conversation scene ***  
**Snip #7**

So there we were. The three of us facing each other in the middle of Capitol Hill Park, a Hero, a Ward and myself. We looked at each other on top of a battleground of a recently ended cape fight, in the middle of the night.

It seems another fight was brewing. One fought… with lots and lots and lots of shouting.

"It's really not his fault!" The Ward repeated her words, setting up the stage.

"Stay out of this, Miss." The Hero lit the fuse. "Do not interfere with Protectorate business."

"I didn't call you here to point weapons at him!"

"Calling this in was good, and for that you have my thanks. But now that I'm here you should leave this to the professionals who'd been doing this for years. By your own admission, you have only been running around being a cape for a week."

"Don't dismiss me just like that." There was a hint of anger in the younger's voice. "And I've been helping, not 'running around…"

"Oh?" The sharp spike at the end of the axe-like weapon shifted away from me, pointed towards the shifting cloud surrounding the teen. "Tell me, by the looks of that cloud, you control insects? You are responsible for the swarm from earlier?"

"Yes and yes... what has that got to do with…"

"That attack you did earlier, it shows just how inexperienced you are by ANY standard."

"What!?"

"You were using your swarm to attack? To bite? To sting? To blind and panic?"

"Yes! That was the idea."

"Why the attention grabbing swarm? Your insects can only really work as a threat when they _reach_ your targets, not before. Why not sneak them in before swarm them from close range? Or to creep in a few attack insects from behind when their attention was on the main swarm? Or attack from the skies? Why not split it into five different swarms attacking from all directions?"

"I... I was… I was distracting them from…"

"And your insects, they are venomous, right? What would happen if your victims had a lethal dose of insect venom? What are you going to do if you accidentally…"

"I have that covered. I have some EpiPens here…"

"Good thinking. Moving on… Why attack from that direction too? Why not go in from the sides, drive a wedge between the attackers and the protected? Why didn't you bypass your assignee much earlier? By attacking from behind, you risk driving your own clueless VIP into the villain's hands, haven't you thought of that?"

"But… I…"

"And speaking of clueless, why not tell your protectee about you in the first place? By his actions, he obviously didn't know about you. You actually think you're going to charge in and save the day? **That** is the common plot of brain-dead _fiction_. **This** is real life. You don't do that, because it gets people killed. People _other than you_"

"A~a~at least I _HELPED_! Which was much better than what you did! You were hiding behind a bush!"

Armsmaster straightened, bristling at the remark by the looks of it.

"There is a difference between hiding and accessing the situation. You haven't talked to him." The silver-clad hero pointed a finger at me. "Have you even considered that he might actually be a hostile?"

"NO! There is no way…"

"Hrrump. Your inexperience is showing…"

"And you're a cold, heartlessness person. You would rather they fight before you jump in, clean up the whole mess and save the day? Who was talking about real life again?"

"No. This is…" a sigh escaped from Armsmaster's lips. "This is not heartlessness. This is just simple strategy."

"Really?" was the sarcastic rejoinder from the Ward.

The Halberd dipped towards the ground as Armsmaster released a hand from the shaft. He raised the free hand, poking two fingers behind his visor and, I presumed, rubbed the bridge of his nose. "This is exactly why I want you in the Wards program. You're not trained in cape strategy and tactics. This is **exactly** the sort of things they teach to clueless new heroes. The things needed to help you, keep you alive , keep other people alive, stop you from making mistakes and help you develop in time."

I looked at the bug girl, her swarm of flying insects orbiting her in a raging swarm. She wasn't a Ward?

"Let me jog your memory; I already told you, I'm not interested."

"Why?"

"My reasons are my own."

"No reason is worth missing a chance to in gaining vital..."

"Oh, now you know better than me without knowing anything about me?"

"There are a lot of gangs in Brockton Bay. I can tell you about the survival statistics of solo capes..."

"I don't care. I just said I don't want to join the Wards. I just don't want to… to…"

"To what?"

"None. Of. Your. Business."

It was as if I was forgotten here, standing between the two squabbling parahumans. I thought I might as well add my two cents, to stop them from squabbling. "Erm, hello?"

They spoke in unison, words overlapping each other.

"Shut up! I'm trying to help you over here."

"Stay out of this. I'll deal with you once I correct this child's misconception."

"Child? Misconception?"

"A parahuman teenager below the age of 18 is a child, and should be in the Wards, no exceptions."

"Says you."

"Why are you so stubborn? It is for your benefit!"

"Stubborn? You're one to talk! How about Pigheaded as a word? You probably don't even need that helmet, your skull's so thick you can block bullets with it!"

"And you're a mule-headed two-legged disaster about to get yourself killed!"

"Better a walking disaster than a person willing to stand by instead of help!"

"And you're being obtuse! You actually think you know more about…"

"You're both right, you know?"

The two squabbling capes, as one, looked at me again for the second time that night.

"It's true." I continued. "You're both are actually remarkably similar to each other."

As if synchronized, they looked back at each other. And back at me again. And back at each other. It was silent for a while, the only other movement that of Armsmaster's uncovered mouth, opening and closing like a fish out of water.

Not-a-Ward-girl began to laugh, loudly.

Armsmaster joined in.

The world was clearly going mad. Or maybe it was struck sane.

"Look, do you still want to talk to me?" I said, getting a bit annoyed at the whole argument bystander thing, and the delay it represented. "I still have to go on my nightly run."

"Yes." Armsmaster said, now smiling broadly as he shouldered his Halberd. "I still would like you to come with me to the Protectorate HQ."

"Ok."

"You should really accept. True, it is not an arrest, but… wait, what did you say?"

"Ok. What about?"

"Oh. Well. There are questions about your recent activities that the Protectorate would like to ask."

"What, about him running straight through hordes and hordes of gangsters, as a hero should?" Bug girl interrupted.

"You know what he did?" the armored visor turned towards the cloud of bugs, not picking up the bait in her words. She nodded. "Good, you can plead for him then, Miss…"

"I do not have a cape name yet." She replied, seemingly shrinking inwards.

There was a sigh, before he turned to me. "And you?"

The bug girl straightened suddenly as if remembering something, but I spoke before she could do anything. "Tama." I answered. "Simon Tama, at your service."

"… oh." The mouth below the visor replied, the smile somehow struck away by my answer.


	9. Arc 2: The Boss & Loose Cannons 8

**Snip #8**

Beside me, the still unnamed bug girl stared.

Armsmaster stared back.

They were not talking to each other as they glared across the cabin, their posture uneasy if not outright confrontational.

Well, at least they were not squabbling. The noise helped.

If there were two good things to be said about the PRT, they were the quality of their vehicles and their speed of response. A few minutes ago, barely a moment after the suddenly grumpy Armsmaster talked with whomever it was through his helm, a bright spotlight announced the arrival of our ride as a black unmarked helicopter descended out of the sky.

I had never quite realized just how windy it was under a helicopter, nor how loud it was inside one of those machines even with the doors closed. And looking down from the skies I was struck by how the world was rendered small and toy-like, places I knew becoming mere smudges and shapes on the ground.

All in all, the helicopter ride was an interesting experience, but the novelty of sightseeing from the sky wore off pretty quickly.

The still nameless teenager was growling behind her mask. She suddenly stopped, her head shifting sideways, slightly towards me. Armsmaster followed the look, and then in a speed that could only be called deliberate, leaned back onto the walls of the compartment.

I looked back out of the window again. Best not to get involved with the staring match behind me.

The Bay which Brockton was named for rushed by below the helicopter, the waves in the darkness only visible through reflections from distant light sources… which were getting brighter. I turned my head towards the source, and beheld a sight of wonder.

Ever since I decided to start running in the middle of the night, the Protectorate East North East's headquarters was a landmark I had grown to like. But the sight of the shining self-lit jewel from the Broadwalk in the distant night sky paled in comparison to what I was seeing now. Formally a flying oil rig, it had been stripped, rebuilt, armored, retasked and rebranded over the years to the point where it no longer looked anything like the original structure.

Now, the Protectorate HQ looked like a flying white pentagon of marble. Unblemished white slabs of sloping armor protected the facilities within, broken only by bands of windows concentrated towards the bottom. Huge spotlights and colored lighting made sure no inch of the white walls were unlit, arranged so as to project the Protectorate symbol five stories high on the side facing the city. Gently undulating purple waves could be seen floating downwards in the empty air below, the work of whatever kept the bastion aloft.

Completing the 'futuristic impenetrable fortress' look, square platforms were built into the sloping outer armor layer walls of the HQ. Nested near the top, it had shaped railings designed to look like modern battlements from afar. Some bristling with antennas and dishes, arrays of forests of communication equipment packed into each other, while others contained the boxy exotic weapons protecting the fortress. Our helicopter landed on the platform set aside as a vehicle pad, as spotlights from above shone down on us, making it appear as if the sun had risen at night.

This. This was what a proper Heroic Heroes Headquarters should look like.

If I ever trained well enough to become a hero, _THIS_ was the sort of place I want to be based in.

A PRT passenger who had been on the helicopter was the first to step out of the door he opened. Waving an arm, he guided us to a lift, which he opened by waving what appeared to be a mobile phone over a panel of some kind. We entered, Armsmaster bringing up the rear, and the doors closed.

* * *

I sat in the office, flanked by the two capes standing on opposite sides of the large table I was facing. And no, those two were not Armsmaster and the still no-name girl. He had led the girl who really needed a name to another room, but before he entered, he had turned towards me one last time, grabbing me in the arm.

I looked at him. He stood there, unmoving. I would think he was staring back, but the visor made it uncertain.

The 'for gods sake, get a name already' girl cleared her throat impatiently.

Armsmaster got the hint. "Consider what will be asked, carefully. With how bad things are, the Protectorate needs any heroes they can get, and I believe you are one of them.

"Please. Don't stand and watch. Don't fall to crime. We can do more good together than we can alone." And with that, he gave me a brisk nod and closed the door almost onto my face. The PRT trooper was left to show me the way onwards.

I withdrew myself back from my recollections, and to the two heroes flanking me; One wore a streamlined suit of body armor, with a visor distinctly different from Armsmaster's own. The other looked like a walking circuit board. A very distinctively female circuit board.

I recognized the two heroes pretty much immediately.

Assault and Battery.

_(Anyone who was a Brockton Bay native cannot help but recognize the duo, given the amount of exposure the PRT had done for the local Protectorate's heroes. But I digress.)_

These two was not exactly at the top of the local Protectorate, but it would not surprise anyone if they took over; they were celebrated cape veterans who had been in the game for a while.

Nice pun, by the way. Although… I wondered how they managed to get a description of a crime past PR. Maybe…

I was interrupted in my thoughts by the opening of the door behind me.

A very familiar, very fat lady waddled past me, displacing Battery from her spot beside me as she did so.

She took her time orbiting her desk, and plonked herself into her seat.

This. This was the last thing I would think of for a proper Heroic Heroes Headquarters.

Management.

Director Piggot stared at me. I looked back.

I was getting feelings of déjà vu here.


	10. Arc 2: The Boss & Loose Cannons 9

**Snip #9**

"So here we are." The Director spoke up, her voice flat and flavorless as she placed a folder she had been holding onto the table. "Simon Tama."

"Here." I said, raising a hand.

She ignored me, instead choosing to look downwards as she opened the folder and extracting from it a few pieces of paper. Arranging what appeared to be reports and photographs into some cryptic pattern on her desk took a moment, and once it was to her satisfaction she looked up.

"Mr. Simon Tama." The Director said with the same flat voice, the tone clearly insincere considering the smile of absolutely childish glee appearing on her face, neatly hidden behind steepled fingers.

"That's me."

"Jog my memory a little. We have met before, correct? Two years ago, almost to the day?"

"Well, I don't know about the day..."

"I seem to recall a conversation we had. About superpowers and trigger events?"

I raised an eyebrow. I tried to recall the previous meeting as well as I could, a moment in time made fuzzy by the two years in between.

"Yeah. I think so."

"You were quite adamant you did not have any powers then, I believe. That you were not a cape."

"Yup."

"What about now? Are you a cape?" She asked, looking intently at me.

Well, I thought it best to answer truthfully, given the tone of her voice and the direction of her questions.

"No, Madam Director. I don't think I'm a cape."

"Really?" The reply came back with a bit more emotion than before, as the Director began to stare at me with narrowed eyes.

I could not think of anything to say other than, "Nope. Not a cape. For starters, I don't even have a costume. And…"

"There's no way you're that dense, Mr. Simon Tama." The fat lady said with words now filled with barely restrained emotion. "You're lying. You **have** triggered. You have powers. And you have been keeping it from us."

"I don't know what you're thinking, but I definitely don't have powers."

Whatever answer Piggot wanted from me, I do not think this was it. I could also feel the two capes beside me looking at each other out of the corner of my eyes at my answer.

"You really don't think you have powers." The emotion behind her words was noticeable now. Flat out disbelief, with a tinge of anger.

"Well, yes."

"Really." She asked, her voice returning to the flat monotone from earlier.

"Really. Duh."

"Then would you care to explain this?"

She flipped one of the papers around and pushed it forward. I leaned forward with my arm out, but she snatched it from my reach before I got a hold of it.

She started reading the contents, the flat monotone of simple recital similar to the conversational tone from earlier. "Two hundred and one E88 members, Thirty three Merchants and affiliated hanger-ons, A hundred and twenty six ABB members, and thirty nine assorted others."

"Excuse me?" I asked. "What's that?"

"That is a list of nearly four hundred gang members, gophers, riff-raff and assorted hanger-ons of villains who had been arrested or given themselves up to clinics and hospitals in the hours between two to four AM, over the past week."

There was a silence in the air as the news sunk in.

I raised a hand.

"What has that got to do with this meeting?" I asked.

"Every single one of them said a bald person in a gray hoodie and yellow sweatpants had taken them down. The very same clothing you are wearing right now." Piggot declared with finality.

"I…"

"And don't think for a moment you can deny that." Piggot continued. "We know it was you. And if that was not enough, I was just informed that Armsmaster has a reliable witness who can say it was you doing this."

I lowered my hands as I thought on this new information. They weren't kids out for a little bit of nocturnal fun? No wonder those guys on the street were _THAT_ hostile when I approached them.

I thought on it for a bit more.

And I raised my hand again.

"What has that got to do with me having powers?" I asked.

"What?" Piggot exclaimed, whatever composure she had crumbling. The emotions behind Piggot's words were flipped from before as she replied; it was now flat out anger, with a tinge of disbelief.

Still, I bulled onwards. "I did go through a hard training regime, just so I can take down parahumans, without powers. I'm surprised I took down that many bad people, but honestly? Not quite that surprised."

"Training… regime?!" That mix of disbelief and anger was back.

"You know, I can even teach you how I did it. You guys just might…"

The slamming palms on the table startled me. Unfortunately, the intimidation effect, or at least I thought it was intimidation, was somewhat lost as the overly fat lady staggered onto her feet. She leaned forward over her desk, looking down onto the lone member of her captive audience.

"Stop _**FUCKING**_ with me, Simon!"

"I'm not. Honest." I even smiled to get my point across… but it seemed to have the opposite effect.

I don't think that's a healthy shade for a person's face to have, honestly.

"You're telling me, to my face, that one of the highest rated brutes in the city doesn't even think he has powers?"

"What's a brute? Who's that 'he' you're talking about?"

Shaking with anger, she shouted, "You… you…"

I think it was too much for her, as she bodily slumped forward onto her desk.

She really should take anger management classes or something.

* * *

It took five minutes of intervention by Assault, whispering calm words into Piggot's ear and easing her back onto her seat before the meeting could continue… or was she Battery? They were always introduced together, so I could not tell which was which.

Anyway, she was the one with circuitry on her costume.

The restarting of the meeting did not seem to be starting off well, with how Piggot shoved Assault's concerned hand aside as she stared daggers at me.

"Mr. Tama, you just said you…"

"Director Piggot?" Assault interrupted, her concern written on her face. "I don't think we should continue. Your health…"

"Go back. Stand there." Piggot's voice was fierce, demanding. "This meeting **will** continue."

Without waiting for the hero's eventual compliance Piggot continued through clenched teeth, "You have a… training regime. An actual, honest to god, training plan. One that's somehow good enough to prepare a person against parahumans?!"

"Yup" I replied.

"This, this I have to hear. Go on."

"OK, here I go. The deciding factor of the success of this hard training plan is if you can see it through to the end, without any breaks in between. There were several times I almost gave up, but by perseverance alone, I have become… unexpectedly strong."

There was silence in the room. A deep silence. I had their full, undivided attention, although it would help if Piggot wasn't trying to stare a hole into me.

I stood up, my pose as straight as I could make it. This secret to my plan must be given with the dignity it deserved. With the sternest voice I could muster, I shouted.

"One hundred push-ups, one hundred sit-ups, one hundred squats and a ten kilometers run. _Every **Single Day**_!

"At first, it'll be tough as hell, and you will start thinking that taking a day off isn't a big deal. I am ashamed to say I did, early on. **Don't**. In order to become a strong hero-to-be, I didn't stop even when my whole body was in pain, and I was spitting blood. Even when my legs felt heavy and refused to move, I kept on doing squats. Even when my arms started making strange cracking sounds, I continued doing push-ups."

I looked around. Good, they were astonished, their mouths wide open in shock… Piggot was even shaking in excitement at the obvious value of this truth, looking like she was about to jump onto her feet once again, erupting into thanks. The key to success was such a simple thing to grasp after all, right there under the nose of everyone, but it was also such a hard thing to understand and obtain.

"And after one and a half years of training, I noticed two changes about myself."

And now, for the dramatic finish.

"I had lost all my hair."

Not that one. I had to say that because, you know, full disclosure and all. They had to know what they were about to get into... but I digress.

The _OTHER_ clincher.

"And I had become strong."

There was a deep silence in the room once more. You could hear pins dropping from the next room. I know I could hear the footsteps from outside at the least.

"In short, train so hard that you think you'll die or lose your mind. That is the only way there is..."

Battery choked.

I restarted, "…the only there is to be…"

Battery coughed. And choked. And coughed some more.

"…strong." I finished as I turned to look at him. Was he all right?

No… Yes, he was all right. No, he was not actually coughing.

With one hand over his face, Battery was struggling to keep his laughter from escaping. And he was failing badly. Large peals of laughter rang out all over the room as he surrendered to involuntary laughter and collapsed onto a nearby wall.

"Assault?" a loud suppressed whisper escaped out of the mouth of his partner. After a short aside glance at the director, she continued whispering, "Get yourself together, Assault."

Wait, 'Assault'? Oops, I mixed up the partners.

The armored hero did not stop his laughter despite the warning, struggling from lack of breath with tears appearing from below his helmet, even as he continued to weakly lean against the wall.

"Assault, get yourself under control!" the other cape hissed as she moved across the room.

"He, is he for *snort* for real? Oh my… my sides…"

"Are we quite done here?" A frosty sentence cut off the cape.

I turned my attention back to the front. Piggot was… apocalyptic would be a good word. She was glaring at me yet again with a frown that did not seem to be possible on a human face, and that unhealthy hue had returned to her skin. Her hands were shaking so much they were performing a drum roll on her desk.

"Erm… yes?" I said.

"Then **GET THE _FUCK_ OUT OF _MY OFFICE __YOU FUCKING FUCK_!**"

I exited the office as fast as I could, chased by the laughter from Assault as well as language not out of place from the proverbial sailor from the Pig. Slamming the door bought some reprieve, although the swearing was so loud I could still clearly hear the screeching from beyond the door.

I gave the PRT staff outside the office a weak smile, even as I internally fumed.

Well, excuse me! I told you my life secret, and this is how you treat me?


	11. Arc 2: The Boss & Loose Cannons 10

**Snip #10**

I… did not know what to do.

And no one told me what to do.

So I did what I most people in my situation would do: I waited outside the door of the Pig's office. The rest of the paper pushers in the open concept office tried their best to look like they were ignoring my presence, although I saw a worried glance or two my way. They seemed to be trying to ignore the continuous stream of swearing from the room I just left as well.

Thankfully for the secretaries and clerks in the open office, it was swearing only in context of the anger leaking out; I could not make out individual words through the closed door. Well, I can hardly fault them for installing some soundproofing, but would it kill the Protectorate's budget to use something better? This was, after all, the doorway to one of the biggest shots of the Protectorate HQ. Who knows what kinds of powered strangers or controllers were out here, spying on the heroes? They even had a Tinker on call for these sorts of things after all.

Minutes passed by as I amused myself by trying to figure out what was being said within the office. Eventually, Piggot either ran out of creative ways to say variants of "sexual congress with so and so", or she got bored at repeating herself. The sounds from within were still as loud as before, but it became more ordered, more purposeful somehow. The unknown sentence ended on a long pause, followed by a single stern word, a sound suspiciously similar to a dismissal.

Pre-warned, I was two steps out of the way when the doorway to the Pig's office opened yet again. Battery walked out, her costume's circuitry glowing much brighter than before. Surprisingly, her partner did not follow her out as she closed the door softly behind her. Judging from the expression on her face as she looked at me, she seemed kinda pissed.

I guess being in the middle of five minutes of one's immediate superior swearing buckets would sour just about anyone's mood.

Wordlessly, she gestured for me to follow her. Grabbing my lunch box from the desk of a surprised clerk, I followed her as we walked towards the exit with her in the lead.

Behind us, the remaining occupants of Piggot's office resumed talking. Loudly.

* * *

Battery led me through carpeted corridors adorned with potted plants, a grandiose lift, more richly decorated corridors, a heavily barred guard station, a bare-bones metal corridor with hand railings and colored strips along the walls as its only decoration, a large, bare-bones cargo lift, and lastly, you guessed it, more bare-bones corridors. We ended up in front of two simple slabs of metal only identifiable as doors by the handles and bright yellow warnings of how they swung out painted onto the floor.

"Where are we?" I looked around as I asked.

Just as wordlessly as before, Battery retrieved her phone from her belt and tapped it on one of the countless unobtrusive metal pads we had passed. Just like the other metal pads from before, there was a beep as brightly lit words appeared in the metal surface topped by a rotating Protectorate sigil. The symbol barely completed two rotations before everything being displayed disappeared, replaced by a large green tick mark.

In response to the successful security check, the two doors began to swing outwards by themselves, to reveal…

… a gym.

Except for the larger than life posters of the Protectorate's 'who's who' hanging on the walls, it was similar in look and feel to a high school gym: a large clear area padded with mats in the middle, rows of different exercise and weight machines on the side, the basketball court made out of only two hoops and a bunch of painted lines on the floor, and the double doors which I bet would lead to storerooms stacked full of equipment.

To say I was a bit disappointed would be an understatement. I was expecting… something. Not this. To be fair, it did seem to have some kind of exotic heavy machinery on one side. The gaggle of lab coats in one corner of the room was also not what anyone would usually see in a high school gym.

While I was day-dreaming my idea of what could have been, a 'danger room' with light guns, flying targets and what-not, Battery was already most of the way across the gym, headed towards the squabble of obvious scientists. I followed, picking my pace a bit to get there at the same time she did.

We arrived in front of a person standing at the head of that blustering white-clad group, an aged man full of white hair on his head, wrinkles on his face and wisdom in his eyes. He looked politely towards me, but I could still see him examining me carefully, his eyes sharp and speculative, as he rubbed his clean leathery chin in one hand.

Self-consciously, I looked at myself. Nothing seemed out of place. What was he so interested in?

"Mr. Tama." Battery gestured towards the surprised scientist. "Meet Dr. Christopher, assistant head of the Protectorate's powers research think tank. Dr. Christopher, Mr. Tama."

"Ah. Well, I have been looking forward to meeting you Mr. Simon. You're the reason why I am temporarily posted here." The researcher reached forward with his right hand, politely offering a handshake. I politely humored him. "I look forward to showing you around the facilities we have in the East North East."

"I'll leave you to your powers testing then." Battery said, already turning around to leave. The Doctor I was introduced to had also turned around to speak to his fellows, saying something about "…start with some treadmill tests…"

What? Powers testing?

"There's no need to test for powers." I found myself saying. "I don't have any."

Immediately and abruptly, two heads turned around to face back at me once more. The good Doctor reacted to the news with an openly astonished look, while something that sounded suspiciously like 'Oh shit' escaped from Battery's lips.

"Excuse me?" Christopher managed to mouth out.

"I don't have powers, Sir. So doing this 'powers testing' thing on me would be a waste of your valuable time."

"But… I thought…" He had an expression of vague confusion as he looked at me. Behind him, his colleagues copied his expressions, various shades of surprise, puzzlement and most commonly confusion showing on their faces. "I thought we were going to meet the cape who defeated Lung?"

"He is." Battery replied for me. She glared at me once again, the mirror of the pissed off look she had when she left the office earlier. "Come here for a moment."

The Assistant Head and the Hero walked some paces away before they put their heads together, slouching and whispering with their backs turned towards me.

I still managed to hear most of the conversation.

"_He __**IS**__ the person who took down Lung_." Battery began, a bit too loudly for secrets.

"_But what he said..._" Dr. Christopher finished the half completed sentence with the tone of a question, unconsciously talking in the same loudness as the capeless cape.

"_We have video evidence and witness testimony. It __**IS **__him._"

"_Then, what about his beliefs?_"

"_He believes in a 'training plan' he created himself instead of having powers. And he believes the training gave him enough to beat Lung._"

The man of science was struck dumb yet again, straightening as he stared in disbelief at Battery. She pulled him back down to her height, but he interrupted before she could continue. "_Well… there is precedence for this sort of thinking. Myrddin does come to mind._"

"_For the record, Piggot believes he is delusional regarding his powers. But that's not why we're here to do now, is it? We just want to get an accurate read on his powers for now. Just play along, we'll leave the debates for later._"

"_It's unconventional to say the least. But I can go with that._"

"_Good luck. I'll be off then._"

The both of them stood up from their whispering and turned to look in my direction, their manufactured smiles plastered on their faces.

Well, I can play along too, going with that.

* * *

"Please, punch when you're ready."

I obliged. Putting myself in the proper stance, I made a great show of concentrating on what I should do next.

I opened my eyes.

I yelled for five full seconds.

I punched.

The machine pinged, as the sensor behind the pad measured the force immediately. Several scientists crowded around the monitor with the results.

Several of them sighed. One even groaned.

"Please, Mr. Tama," Christopher said through gritted teeth, "You… I… you… I know you can do better than that? Please punch the pad harder!"

"Okay."

I went through the entire ridiculous posing as before. I punched again, restraining myself just enough.

Thank god for small mercies. Mercies which happened to be in the shape of irritating mosquitoes. And learning how to not dent my apartment's walls while slapping them.

Another round of sighs. Two groans this time.

"Look, it's just some testing." Christopher injected while rubbing the temples of his forehead with the thumb and third finger of one hand. He was one of the groaners on the last test. "You do want to know how strong you are when compared to other capes, right?"

"I know how strong I am." I countered. "I can at least beat third-raters if I catch them by surprise. I did so twice before, you know?"

'And your direct superior just insulted me when I told you about my source of powers! So why should I give her anything?' Nope, I was not going to say that. As the saying goes, if you do not have anything good to say about someone…

"Yes, yes. But how well do you stack up against other parahumans?" Christopher forged onwards. "We at the PRT know our powers. We can tell you just how well you measure up against other capes."

"Oh, and also I think I'll break this pad or something. And then the… Piggot would bill me for it."

"Look, Mr. Tama, PRT equipment is built sturdier than that. That pad can probably withstand a car crashing into it without a scratch. And even if it breaks, we are not going to bill you for it!"

"Sayzzz you guys, two years ago…" I countered.

Christopher sighed again. He turned to the group of very disappointed scientists and clapped his hands to get their attention.

"Alright, guys, we have an unresponsive. You know the drill. Pack up and gather in lounge #2."

As the scientists and technicians busied themselves with shutting down the machinery we had used earlier, Christopher turned towards me yet again.

"Mr. Tama, at least think about getting properly tested?" He said as he dug into his lab coat, producing a name card which he offered to me. "Once you decide to do so, call the number on this card and schedule a follow-up? Please?"

"Ok." Whatever. Anything to get him out of my hair. Not that I had any, but, well, figure of speech.

* * *

"Stay here for the moment. I'll get you an escort back to Brockton Bay." Were the Assistant Head Scientist's last words to me. Five minutes ago.

I looked around the empty gym as I leaned against the wall with my lunchbox, bored out of my mind.

There was that beep again.

This time, I caught the direction it came from.

It was the punching machine. And it was still switched on, the screen displaying a big Zero below the words "initiate force on the pad when ready".

What was it the PRT guy said again? 'How well you measure up against other capes'?

Well, why not?

Putting down my lunch box, I posed myself properly in front of the target pad…

* * *

Alarms blared from all directions, accompanied by emergency lights flashing from every wall I could see. Interweaved between the wailing and the ringing, an announcement repeated itself yet again. "Protectorate Headquarters is believed to be under attack! I repeat, Protectorate Headquarters has suffered an unknown attack. All personnel are to follow Code C evacuation and lockdown procedures! All civilians and PRT visitors are to approach the nearest Protectorate staff for instructions! I repeat…"

"Yo!"

I jumped out of my skin as I turned rapidly on the spot where I was in front of the closed double doors of the gym.

Assault grinned where he stood beside me. He had obviously used the chaos of the alarms and flashing lights to sneak up on me.

"What an interesting day to be here, isn't it?" Assault had to yell to make himself heard above all the alarms.

I nodded enthusiastically. I did not exactly trust myself to speak.

"And since you're about the only civilian in this base at this ungodly early hour, this recently demoted gopher is now at your service. I'm here to show you your way out of here." Assault yelled conversationally, "Follow me!"

I followed, pretending to be politely interested in Assault's explanation on how some blaster just annihilated a section of the Protectorate Headquarters, while thanking my lucky stars that the unnamed villain attacked when he or she did.

And how lucky I was that Assault did not take a peek through the double doors I was leaning against. That machine had sounded expensive, and I did not want most of the money in my lunch box to disappear on me…

* * *

I was alone in the flying vehicle this time. The helicopter ride back was boring, which was quite surprising.

Then again, maybe not. I was too busy thinking inwards to actually appreciate the view outside. Or maybe I was too tense, waiting for the moment the helicopter would suddenly turn a hundred and eighty degrees, back to the Protectorate I had just managed to wreck.

I did not know what kind of equipment they kept in the Protectorate base, but it was used in powers testing, so maybe it was meant to crumble to pieces on a good hit. The other person _did_ tell me not to worry if I broke the thing after all.

But that, and the things I had learned from the meeting earlier, also meant something.

I was now strong enough.

I was ready.

I just had to find more third rate villains to get some practice at this 'hero' thing, get settled in as they say. Maybe a few more 'meetings' with some low level capes should be enough… I wonder if that 'Wolf' guy was still around for a spar?


	12. Arc 2: The Boss & LC Interlude 2

**Interlude 2**

"Doctor, what are you doing here? Is our internal security down again? This is a sensitive, internal Protectorate meeting."

Doctor Christopher Lambert turned to face the speaker, and found his vision mostly blocked by a blue and silver gauntleted fist, the index finger of which was mere inches from his nose. He could slightly make out the sight of Miss Militia beside the owner of that fist, a look of consternation on her face as the second of the local Protectorate branch looked at the tactless hero.

"Armsmaster." Piggot responded from somewhere to his right in a loud voice that was not quite a shout.

The fist moved slightly to one side, a side effect of the hero's torso twisting to face the front of the room.

"I invited him." The Director of the PRT continued in her firm, unwavering voice, an authoritative stance he was well acquainted with despite having only been here a week.

"This is a class A-II meeting," Armsmaster stated in an emotionless recital of facts not out of place in a university's lecture theatre. "Dr. Lambert's position as the overall Assistant Head of Powers Research is class B-IV at best. There is no reason that he should be here…"

Armsmaster's stance changed abruptly, lowering his fist. Thus unimpeded, Christopher had a front row view to the dawning comprehension on Armsmaster's face, despite that his face being mostly hidden by his helm.

"Unless a certain someone is involved, yes." Christopher declared, finishing Armsmaster's sentence for him.

"Hmm," Armsmaster hummed an acknowledgement as he nodded his receipt of the statement, before he moved away to retrieve the seat he had kicked aside.

'Not even a hint of apology.' Christopher thought as the leader of the local Protectorate settled down onto his restored seat, while his second in command seated beside him looked like she was silently sighing. 'Well, I've seen worse.' he thought before turning towards the front of the room where Director Emily Piggot was seated. 'Much worse.'

Reaching the front of the room in two steps, Christopher exchanged some short, polite words with the Director before he turned around, facing the assembled audience. Six pair of eyes masked behind all manners of costumes looked back. As expected, Armsmaster sat in the front and center of the room with Miss Militia, portraying purpose and readiness just by being there. To one side, Assault lounged lazily right in the front row, no doubt dragged to the front by Battery, sitting as straight-laced as anyone could. Velocity flanked the front row on the other side, while Triumph sat by himself on the second row, his odd choice of seating as ill-fitting as his brand new spot in the Protectorate team.

There was nobody else in the room, not even the usual heads of PRT departments. For a class A meeting, the lack of the PRT response team leaders and intelligence heads was telling.

The odd man out in the room cleared his throat.

"We all know why we're here, and the investigation report will be printed and distributed soon enough, so I'll skip past the formalities." That earned a nod and a small hint of a smile from a silver and blue helm. "But I will include a brief, just so we're on the same page.

"This morning, at approximately Oh Three Fifty One of April the Nineteenth, this Protectorate base, the Rig came under attack. As there was no indication of an attacker and the Rig appeared to have suffered extensive damage, Code C evacuation and lockdown procedures were activated by the PRT officer on watch, and concurred shortly after by the Protectorate officer on call."

Christopher nodded in Velocity's direction. The speedster nodded back, but the downward direction his lips took showed a hint of worry in his face.

"Shortly after, unable to find any attackers and receiving no further attacks, the alarm was downgraded to Code E secure and readiness procedures at Oh Four Oh Nine. Barely a minute later, at Oh Four Ten a person identified as Oni Lee of the ABB attacked. I will not go into details about the next five minutes, as most of you were involved. We all know what happened next."

Christopher looked around the room. Not one face in the room was lacking in a grim outlook as the implications of the attack sunk in. The villains had gotten the better of them, despite their home ground advantage. A _single_ villain had gotten the better of them and managed to get away before the Rig could manage a response.

Worst of all, Lung was freed from deep within the Rig, from one of the most secure cells in the entire Protectorate, a spot second to very few locations in the entire world.

From any point of view, PR, preparedness, gang dynamics and various others, this attack had 'disaster' stamped all over it.

However, some of the faces in the room were more thoughtful than others, their owners having gotten a hint from the arrangement of Christopher's presentation. Armsmaster and Miss Militia were a given, but seeing Assault being deep in thought was a surprise. Triumph had a puzzled look instead, probably due to seeing the puzzle for what it was but not the solution to it.

"An investigation was carried out immediately after the lockdown of the Rig was lifted sufficiently. An hour later, I was included into the investigation with the Director's orders when certain facts came to light.

"For the record," Christopher made a point of briefly turning to face the Director, "I concur with the investigating overseers. Velocity's reasoning behind the first standing down of the alarm was sound, and he should be absolved of all blame. But it was just so very unfortunately timed; most of the Rig's systems were being cycled down and thus offline when Oni Lee attacked. And what was still running was being hampered by the damage from the first explosion.

"This brings us to why I was called in to assist; why the Rig sustained its first round of damage. Watch."

Christopher had paced himself slowly to the side of the front desk as he talked, and thus he was within arm's length of the room's projector. He withdrew his hand from a pocket as he finished the earlier sentence, plugging a little electronic card into the appropriate slot beside the system. Within moments, the members of the meeting were looking at a video projected onto the side wall of the meeting room.

The video was obviously a security feed of the north gym on the fourth floor, according to the imprints of text for location and time. However, unlike most security videos, this playback's quality was good enough to clearly display a person in the far end of the hall, standing next to one of the machines scattered in the room. He placed a small box onto the floor, walked up to the pressure plate of the bulky impact measuring device in question, posed and… static covered the recording.

The electronic cloud dissipated soon enough, replaced by the same scene, a huge cloud of dust covering where the person used to be. A few seconds later, the earlier person ran out of the cloud in obvious haste. Hurriedly looking right and left in panic, he disappeared off-screen to the right, only to reappear back into the camera's view with the gym's door torn off in one hand, diving back into the dust cloud.

Several moments passed before the same person reappeared yet again, still holding onto the gym's door, and holding the earlier box he had left on the floor in his other hand. He ran off-screen for the second time before the playback ended.

"And here's the aftermath." Christopher tapped the top of the projector, switching its output to an image of the basketball-sized hole on the side of the Protectorate base being projected onto the wall.

"Good news for our PR department, it doesn't look like much externally." Christopher pointed at the damage on the side of the floating base before he tapped the projector. "But the interior is unfortunately not made of the same tinker materials."

The image was replaced by a picture of a much larger tunnel, a lane of destruction through several room identified only by the sheared partitions, smashed filing cabinets, cracked computers, twisted server racks and paper confetti littered all over the floor. Assault whistled, earning a sideways look from his partner, while Triumph whispered something, which Miss Militia replied more audibly, "Yes, it does look like a brute decided to smash straight through the walls."

"Who did this?" Velocity asked, obviously wanting to know who caused the damage to the Rig on his watch.

Christopher tapped the projector yet again. A face showed up on screen, a mugshot of a bald, bored Asian man with various lines of information to one side.

"Meet Simon Tama, the person whom you just saw in the…"

A loud snort interrupted the speaker. The whole room turned to stare at Assault as he giggled in his little world, a shit-eating grin proudly displayed on his face for all to see. Battery was already leaning against him, whispering frantically for him to stop, adding in a dope slap for good measure.

The unruly cape did stop, abruptly even, but not because of his partner.

Christopher turned around and beheld a scene he thought he would never see in his life.

Piggot softly giggling to herself.

The Director recovered quickly, unfazed by the stares of surprised confusion from most of the room's occupants. "Oh, please, _DO_ continue. I really want to hear this." she said in her usual icy self, the act so natural it made the burst of disturbing mirth seem as if it was only a figment of shared imagination.

Sufficiently disrupted, Dr. Lambert took a while before he could reorder his thoughts. "So… in a roundabout way," he spoke before another pause, and resumed again a bit louder to speak above the returning chuckling behind him, "the first blast to the Rig and the resulting lack of readiness capitalized on by Oni Lee was technically my fault. The NonCom procedures worked wonderfully; I just did not expect Simon to do… this."

"Erm, what's 'NonCom'?"

"Ah, Triumph." Christopher turned to address the young Protectorate cape. "Don't worry too much about it; it's something of a nickname specific to my department, not yours. NonCom is short for non-committed, and for us it refers to common tricks and techniques to measure the ratings of the rare cape who approached us on friendly terms, but refused to be rated by the PRT for whatever reasons."

Triumph nodded, before a frown interrupted his features. "How does anyone test a person who doesn't want to be tested?"

"There are ways." Christopher waved towards the paused video on the wall. "For example, planting a suggestion through innocent conversation and a simple beeper to draw attention led to the results you just saw. Other methods include simple observation, interview of eyewitnesses and victims of the cape in question, simple aftermath investigation, and lots and lots of good cameras, microphones, pressure plates and other odds and ends.

"It's about the same bunch of tricks we use to try to pin classifications on villains and rogues, but because of the location, personnel and equipment within carefully prepared PRT or Protectorate locations, we are usually able to gauge the results much more accurately."

Christopher tapped the projector, showing the same viewpoint in the gym from an earlier point in time. He continued onto his next point as the video played. "As you can see, by leaving Mr Tama behind, Battery 'inadvertently' allowed us to find out about…"

"We're not here for NonCom lessons. What is Simon's classification?" Velocity interrupted, the red-clad striped speedster asking with the short, curt impatience surprisingly common in pure movers with momentum based abilities, especially those without flight. The uninterrupted video continued in the background, showing an easily identifiable Simon blurring as he _moved_ across the screen with astounding speed, catching up with Battery as they reached the research team.

With a raised brow, Christopher looked towards Armsmaster, who nodded. Another look was directed at the Director, who also nodded. Wordlessly, the Doctor tapped the projector multiple times, skipping pages and videos in his presentation. A final slide appeared, displaying four lines of text, and three numbers.

There was a collective gasp from some of the members in the room.

"As the bottom of the page suggests, all these ratings are merely speculations due to the NomCom nature of Simon." The old man clarified, "I had already bumped them up a notch to give us a margin of error, but they may still be…"

"He has a good mover score on top of being a Brute Seven?" Assault whistled. "That's going to be a serious pain in a fight."

"Striker/Brute." Christopher corrected. "We do not know if he can _take_ a punch."

"But, that's only one step under Alexandria!" The uncharacteristic outburst from Triumph was the loudest among similar sentiments. "And with Mover Five, aren't we dealing with an Alexandria light?"

"Numbers don't matter that much in a fight." Miss Militia reassured. "It's not how strong you are, but how you use it." Her shifting powers painted her green as she spoke, her hands fidgeting between a knife, handgun and a baton and back again.

"Thinker, Listening?" that particular exclamation came from Battery. "Oh. Oh no…"

On her end of the room, Piggot smiled as she leaned back, lost in her thoughts.

And Armsmaster chose to nod at the display. "That's good. That's very good indeed."

"Care to explain that, boss?" Assault turned to look at the Protectorate leader, much of his earlier relaxed demeanor gone. "Guy's going to be hell to deal with in a fight."

"Of course, but he's going to be our enemies' hell in a fight."

There was a pause in the round of exclamations in the room.

"Because he's on our side."

The pause continued.

"… I assume he is, Director?"

Armsmaster stared at Piggot for a long moment. The chair creaked as he began to lean forward, eventually moving so far that he could be described as getting off his seat. "I did ask him to join when… He **is** on our side, isn't he?"

"He is unlikely to be an ABB member, but..." Piggot began.

"You didn't." Armsmaster interrupted, aghast. "He isn't."

Piggot eventually replied. "There are reasons..."

There was a crash, and a bang. Miss Militia stood up calmly. "Please continue," she said before she walked around the fallen chair. Accelerating quickly, she made her way out of the room through the dented open door, intent on chasing down the fading echoes of the running tinker.

"And that, my bunny, is why I joined up." Assault quipped. "Never a dull moment with _*oof*_ "

Christopher agreed, just for that once, that the powered-up dope slap was entirely warranted.


	13. Arc 3: I'mma Hero! Setup Montage 11

Sorry for the delay guys, Bad, bad writer's block... hope it's over now.

**Arc 3: * "I'mma Hero!" Setup montage ***  
**Snip #11**

The door closed softly behind me as I exited the room. I sighed, as I turned to look around, an action soon mirrored by the old man who had exited the room with me.

They had all sent someone to witness what was going to happen. A significant number of them of them appeared to be the breadwinners of their families, wearing the suits, coveralls, uniforms or whatever they would be wearing to work later today. Yet they were here at ten am this Monday morning, clearly late for their jobs.

I did not know what to say to that.

Some families had sent more than one witness, a contrast varying in size and maturity beside their family representatives. These came in the form of children to be taken care of, young adults to back up their more elderly representatives, or equally aged men and women to give moral support to the crowd surrounding them.

On noticing us exiting the room, some turned to look our way, prompting similar reactions in others as they noticed the attentive, until to the last they had all turned to look our way. Those who had been seated stood up. Others broke off from, or moved forward in groups. There were unspoken minor fights for dominance as a crowd formed, as several of those blocked by the front rows of the crowd shifted and pushed, trying to get a better view.

The resulting mob packed themselves shoulder to shoulder, squeezing towards their common interest in the narrow corridors on the first floor, stopped from getting closer only by an invisible line drawn by earlier agreement. They faced us both wordlessly, but it was clear their attention was on the old man beside me.

I saw him nodding from the corner of my eye. With the naturally soft, calm voice of an aged person, he said, "Simon has agreed to all our terms. Today, on the Eighteenth of…"

There was an immediate cheer from those in the front of the crowd, blanketing out whatever else the old man would have said. The few people I could see in the second row hesitated, unsure, obviously unable to see the nod of the shorter man beside me. A teenager amongst them tugged on the sleeves of a person in front. Loud, happy words were exchanged, the news was passed backwards, and moments later the youth was cheering too, turning around to spread the good news in loud shouts.

With the words passed down, the whole crowd was cheering soon enough. They shouted their jubilation at the top of their voices to the last. The echoes doubled in on themselves in the narrow confines as the young, the old and everyone in between added to the din in the partially enclosed corridor.

Me? I was just wondering what the hell I was going to do with myself for the next few hours.

* * *

I stood outside what was my apartment, looking down at my feet.

Three boxes.

Why did it have to be three boxes? It could not be a convenient two, or four. It had to be three boxes. And for added insult, the third box had to be much smaller than the rest, but just bulky enough, difficult enough to be carried together with the others.

Then again, it was kind of sad that I had only three boxes in total. I had excuses for that, but…

"Hi." A voice from the side interrupted my musings. I turned in response and saw the speaker.

She was a teenager, a kid wearing casual clothing which could only be described as meek, and distinctly out of place in the rapidly warming spring weather; A baggy long sleeve windbreaker large enough to cover even the tips of her fingers fought for dominance with an equally baggy set of cargo pants reaching down to smoother her footwear in folds of cloth. Her face was equally hidden behind her brown, wavy hair, and the reflective glare of a pair of glasses tried to hide what her hair did not.

But still, I recognized her immediately, if in a very different context.

"Tailor Herbert! Hello there, what a nice coincidence." I greeted my on-again, off-again running partner. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Hi." That single squeak was the sum total of her response as she fidgeted from one foot to the next.

"So, what's up?"

"I…" She started… and apparently forgot the rest of whatever she wanted to say. It looked like she tried to say something again and again, but nothing came out as she stopped before even a syllable was uttered. Her face lowered with each unsuccessful try, and she ended up looking straight down at the floor.

That got me thinking, and it was immediately obvious. She was not one of my neighbors, but she was here on the fourth floor of this apartment complex. Not to mention it was a school day, and she's young enough to need to go to school. And on top of that she lacked the usual confident 'go-getter' attitude she displayed on our runs.

I cleared my throat to grab the young teenager's attention. "Except… it's not a coincidence you're here, is it?"

She flinched from the question.

Confident I was on the right track, I continued. "I don't think I've mentioned I lived around here. How did you find me?"

She flinched again, looking up at me. "I…" she managed to say again, before her head went back down. "_I… bugged you._"

"Oh man. Look, you probably skipped school just to be here, didn't you?"

She nodded.

"And you have something you need to say to me? Something important, world shattering even, to the both of us and our futures. But now that you're here in front of me, you can't seem to bring yourself to say it?"

Her next nod was microscopic.

"Yea, I thought so."

I sighed, and immediately regretted it as she flinched again. Oh boy. I could not even see her face to gauge her reaction. How should I put this delicately?

"I'm… You… Tailor? You're actually pretty nice, well, for the short amount of time I know you that is. And depending on how you look at it, you're a pretty good girl too. Finding out where I live? It's quite…"

I trailed off as something else just occurred to me, something I had almost missed. "By the way, can I see how you 'bugged' me?"

"I… " She managed to say before words failed her again. Instead, she gestured towards the wall of the corridor.

I read the word_ 'Hi'_ written on the wall, written with the bodies of cockroaches. The roach dotting the 'i' flew off the wall as I watched, and landed on my shoulder. I instinctively stepped back as I flicked that cockroach off my shoulder. It took to the air again and landed right back on the wall, where the rest of the bugs were busy rearranging themselves with a few new arrivals. The words _'I'm sorry'_ formed, before dissolving into _'for last night'_.

She was the bug girl last night.

Whoa, I almost made a fool of myself just now.


	14. Arc 3: I'mma Hero! Setup Montage 12

**Snip 12**

We looked at each other awkwardly in the silence of the fourth floor corridor. Or rather, I looked at Tailor awkwardly, and she looked at the floor awkwardly.

"So, you're the…"

Her head snapped up, eyes wide. "_Shhhh!_" she shushed, one finger over her lips as she looked up and down the corridor. A small wave of bugs accompanied the search, flying in formation as they turned around the corners or rested themselves on the doors of this floor's apartments.

A moment of silence later, she relaxed, her upper body slumping in relief. "Nobody's listening" she sighed.

"_I could have told you that,_" I mumbled.

She rounded onto me the next moment. The next few words were spat out, the soft volume of her whisper offset by the harshness and anger in the whisper's message. "What was **that** about?! You do not expose a cape's secret identity! It's one of the big taboos!"

"I didn't know that," I replied honestly.

"Well, now you do!"

"Erm, ok."

Apparently, that was the sum total of acceptable conversation topics between us, because right after that we looked at each other awkwardly in the silence of the fourth floor corridor. Again.

"Oh!" I hit the open, upward facing palm of my left hand with the base of my right fist as something occurred to me. My actions brought Tailor's head up from the curiously attractive gravity of the corridor's floor.

"You know quite a few things about capes, right?" I asked.

"Erm…"

"You know about the unwritten rules. That's something I don't know. You probably know more about cape life, more than me at any rate?"

"I guess? I only knew about the unwritten rules from Armsmaster's interview, but…"

"Do you know who's who cape-wise in Brockton Bay?"

"I did a bit of research online, but…"

"That's more than what I know then. And you have…" I conversationally swerved when her confused look turned into a frowning glare, "… you can control you know what?"

"Yes."

She's **perfect**! "You're **perfect**!" I repeated my thoughts out loud.

"I am?"

"So," I intoned, my expression as serious as I could make it. I grabbed her on both her shoulders as I said the next words, looking slightly upwards and directly into her eyes. "I am going to clean up Brockton Bay. Wipe out crime, get villains behind bars, the works. I am going to be a Hero. Will you help me?"

She was astonished, her eyes wide as saucers. Her mouth fell open as the meaning of my statement sunk in. The moment stretched on and on, to the point I was getting a bit worried as she started trembling in my arms.

My worry was finally dispelled when she nodded several times with all her might.

"Well, thank you very much Miss Tailor Herbert," I said as I smiled, holding out a hand in an unofficial gesture of an agreed contract. "I look forward to your help."

She smiled back with the biggest grin I had seen on her face to date. "By the way, it's Hebert. No 'R'," she corrected as she shook my hand.

"Oh. Sorry about that Tailor."

"No worries. It's a common mistake. So, what now?"

"Well…. You can follow me?" I said as I picked up both of the larger boxes in front of me. I gave the third box the evil eye yet again, before I turned around and asked to one side, "Oh, and can you help me with the last box? We have some distance to go, and I don't want to drop that."

She goggled at my retreating back, or at least I saw her doing so when I turned around to look back, wondering what was with her delay and jerking my head to indicate she should follow. It took a moment for her to recover, but as I reached the stairs at the far end of the corridor, I could hear her footsteps as she struggled to keep up.

* * *

"You… were… **what**?!"

It was surprising how much emotion she could put in that voice, despite her current condition.

"I was evicted," I replied. "The neighbors of the entire block banded together and sent the landlord an ultimatum, and got me kicked out of my apartment. Seriously, their timing couldn't be worse! I finally had enough money to pay for all the back rent I owed, for goodness sake! I've even had enough left over for repairs!"

"But… why?"

"Quote 'defacing public property', 'extensive unauthorized renovations' and 'disturbing the peace' unquote. That last one was especially stupid. Seriously, I don't even understand the size of that blowout. Apparently, they can't stand a little noise in the day, let alone at night. But even if they can't, why wouldn't they talk to me first? I could have let up on my own if I knew… Oh, here we are. My new home sweet home."

I put down one of the boxes to free up a hand, which I used to open the door before me.

And I sighed as I placed the other box in the middle of my new lodgings.

It was the second floor office of a warehouse. Filing cabinets laid abandoned on the floors and walls of the dusty place. Slightly off to another side, a frame of a table rusted silently, its missing wooden parts probably had long been converted into kindling by looters. Two other doorways faced me, one open towards the overflowing stench of an adjoining restroom, and another to an open balcony and walkway overlooking what used to be the warehouse's storage areas.

It would require quite a lot of elbow grease to clean and refurbish. A gallon or ten of bleach for the toilet, some furniture, a carpet or three, and lots of paint to cover the graffiti coating everything, but I could see myself living here. As an added plus, the electricity and water was still curiously running.

It would not be what I called perfect, but beggars can't be choosers.

At that thought, I sighed again. The saying was apt; as of now I was now an illegal resident in the middle of the Docks, my house a trespassed warehouse office, my neighbors the wandering poor hiding in the Docks. I had planned this for two years, knowing that my joblessness would eventually lead to this. But I still felt blindsided by my new status.

What happened to the dreams I had when I came to America?

I was interrupted from my thoughts by Tailor, as the teenage parahuman less placed and more dropped her assigned box roughly onto the ground, before she collapsed on the floor herself. "What in the… the world do you have… inside this box?" she demanded as she caught her breath, leaning back on her hands where she sat.

"Oh, just random odds and ends," I said as I stretched my shoulders and flexed my neck. "I hope it wasn't too heavy for you?"

Tailor gave me an odd look, a weird expression I could not figure out. Eyeing the large box I had carried, and the smallest box she had carried, she pursed her lips before moving her eyes onto the one I had left just outside my new residence. She stood and walked over to the doorway, where she reached out with both hands and grabbed the handholds of the wooden container a third as tall as she was.

A look of surprise flashed past her face when her tug failed to move that box. She squatted down, bracing her legs on the floor and leaning over the box before she strained. Her body slacked a moment later as she readjusted her posture, and she tugged again.

* * *

Five minutes later, I watched as Tailor pulled with all her might yet again. Her face was flushed red as she showed her teeth in a grimace of effort. Her limbs were trembling, her legs and arms shaking with the exertions she had forced into them. Her back arced above the box, the lower back bent into a 'C' yet again as she tried to force her upper body and its anchor off the ground.

She suddenly tumbled backwards onto the floor, her grip having given up before the rest of her.

The offending box had not budged at all. I did not think it had even moved more than an inch those past five minutes.

"Are you all right?" I said as I walked around the recollapsed girl, who was coughing into the cloud of dust caused by her fall, dislodging more dust from the floor and causing more coughing. Seeing her nod, I continued, "Here, let me."

Squatting and grabbing the box properly, I maintained the optimal straight-backed stance for lifting heavy objects and stood up with a smooth motion. With a slight grunt of effort, I hefted that box with me back into the room and placed it beside its peer.

I turned back towards the entrance, where an astonished Tailor had lifted her head off the floor to look at me.

"Oh right. You're a Brute," She said, "Or maybe something else? How did..."

"Now that's just rude." I replied, annoyed. "Calling me a brute just because I can lift a box?"

"What?! No! I, I was talking about the PRT power classifications!"

"Huh?"

She raised the rest of her upper body off the ground with her elbows as she stared at me. "You don't know what power classifications are?"

"No~ope."

She blinked. That was followed by a face-palm.

"Well, it **IS** why I need your help?"

"Ok. Alright. How did that poem go again?" She asked herself as she got back onto her feet, slapping her clothes and creating large clouds of dust in the air. "Right. _Mover, Shaker, Brute and ... Broken? Master, Tinker, Blaster and Thinker. Smacker, Changer, Trump and_ … something. I don't remember. I know it's on the tip of my tongue but…"

"What was that?" I asked, interrupting. I was genuinely confused at that point.

"Those are the PRT classifications."

I continued to look confounded.

"Ok, those words in the little jingle just now? Those are the power classifications. It's a sort of 'short form' the PRT uses to describe everyone's different powers, and, I think, also affect how they should handle situations with those powers.

"Most of them are intuitive to the word used, in my opinion, and I think this is done on purpose. For example, Movers is used on capes who can move quickly or teleport, which fits the meaning 'movement'. Masters on the other hand brings up the image of a 'person who controls', and it refers to people who can control other things, and so on.

"So, for example, a PRT employee would only need to point at me and say 'Master!' and pretty much immediately all the PRT and Protectorate folks, and some others besides, will immediately know I can control or create something to control, and so they can react appropriately."

"I don't know," I responded, "That classification seems to have a lot of gaps in it. What if, say, you controlled Kaijus? Like, you can summon a gigantic radioactive dragon lizard from the middle of the Bay or something? Wouldn't you still be called a Master?"

"Yes?" Tailor replied hesitantly. "But I don't control..."

"I don't think those PRT guys will 'react appropriately' if they brought a vat of bug-spray, turned around the corner and came face to face with a giant King Kong now, would they?"

There was a pause, before my statement earned itself a snort of laughter from my guide on capes.

" 'Release the bug spray!' " I continued on my hypothetical scenario. " 'Bug spray is a PRT-sanctioned appropriate reaction to a ten story tall Giant Enemy Crab Monster! Oh good, we're obviously hitting its weak point for massive damage, even if it is obliterating everything in sight! We just need more bug spray!' "

The earlier snort had grown into loud laugher. "Stop! Please! Oh, my sides," Tailor begged, clutching her stomach as she hunched over in a crouch for balance.

Despite me obliging her, it took a few moment before she recovered.

"I… wow. Thanks for, heh, the laugh. But, I don't think the PRT would be _that_ incompetent. There's also a number to go with the classifications, but I don't quite understand that, yet. The bigger the number, the more power the cape has? Anyways, no matter what else you can say about them, they had been doing somewhat well on cape matters thus far."

"Bureaucracy," I countered. "Don't underestimate how bad things can be in a Bureaucracy."

She looked like she wanted to disagree, but she did not respond in any way.

"So, they'll call me a Brute then?"

"Brutes refer to people with beyond human strength and toughness, and sometimes regeneration or damage prevention," Tailor nodded. "So, yes. Most definitely."

"Great. And the worst part of the whole thing is: I don't even have powers. I only just trained more than the average person," I more or less pouted. A brute wasn't exactly a nice thing to call someone.

"But… you…," I guess Tailor did not have much to say to that. "So, erm… what's in this box anyways?"

"My life possessions, the ones I could carry at least. I got kicked out of my home, remember?"

"Oh right. Sorry."

"Don't be. As for that particular box, it contains all of my electronics. TV, VCRs, you know. Also, there's an old abandoned computer I hope I can fix, some magazines, yesterday's newspaper, a few hundred coupons, some instant noodles, what's left of my entire Manga collection, and some old clo... My old clothes!"

Excitedly, I tore open the box and took out the metal boxes of my battered laptop and other electronics. Having cleared enough space, I started to rummage inside, throwing a random magazine, pot or undergarment out of the way to create more space and shift things about. It did not take much time until I finally reached the layer I was digging for.

With a tug, I freed the vintage box out of the pile of clothes, holding it high above me as I showed it to Tailor. "Tada!" I exclaimed. "This is going to be my new costume!"

Having her face-palm was the last reaction I expected.


	15. Arc 3: I'mma Hero! Setup Montage 13

**Snip #13**

"So! How do I look?"

Tailor Hebert's head appeared around the corner of the office's balcony doorway.

Even without a mirror, I could picture what she was seeing: a real life copy of the box art; a fictional hero brought to life in the real world; a hero I had adored and watched every Saturday on television without fail, back before I came to America.

She was seeing the perfect amalgamation of the classic Japanese cape and a Greek hoplite.

I was clad in a bright yellow bodysuit covering every inch of my body. Over this various 'bronze' armor pieces were worn. Said 'bronze' pieces took the shape of a sculpted breast plate, complete with an impressive indentation of the classic six-pack. Finishing the equipment was a large, round 'bronze' shield attached to one arm, and a thin 'bronze' spear I held in the other.

Of course, a commercial costumer did not really sell actual bronze armor to random people, not even in the past during the height of the Japanese cape craze. Those 'bronze' pieces were some other light metals, something closer to aluminum I believe, while the spear was made of foam and plastic. But I digress.

On my head covering most of my features was a helm, a solid tubular covering made of the same 'bronze' smoothly curved around my head. A stylized Y was cut into the front of the mostly solid shell, exposing my eyes and nose.

Complementing the large amounts of yellow and finishing the look of the old classic hero were patches of red spread all over the costume. It was the color of my gloves, my boots, a spiffy belt, and a plume of red synthetic hair mounted on top of the helm.

And of course the completely awesome cape which adorned my back. It reached all the way down to my knees, red on the outside and yellow on the inside, fluttering in the air despite the lack of a breeze in my new house.

"Am I glad now I accidently bought this costume in adult size; my youthful frustration and tears are now paying back in large dividends." I explained as Tailor got a good long look at my costume. "You just can't get this anywhere anymore. Japan's cape scene never really recovered as a whole after Leviathan happened to Kyushu."

She was still staring at me, struck speechless by my costume.

"Sentai Spartan!" I shouted, making the requisite wind milling hand movements of the character whose costume I was wearing, trying to provoke a reaction.

She still stared.

As flattering as the awed silent treatment was, it was also getting somewhat uncomfortable. "C'mon," I prompted. "Say something."

I got my wish.

"You look like a dork."

"... huh?"

* * *

Meanwhile

* * *

The fourth floor walkway and balcony of the apartment complex was empty. It was not surprising, really, given the hour of the day; most would be at work at that hour.

A pair of soft, unobtrusive sounds whispered, the soft 'pppith' barely audible on the fourth floor walkway. The sounds were too soft to have been from anywhere but beyond the walls, from somewhere outside the apartments and far away, and any hypothetical observers would not have given them a second thought.

The next set of sounds to be heard would not be so easily dismissed however; they were much louder, attention grabbing metal on metal jingling. The nonexistent observer's attention would be drawn by the sounds to the pair of metal wires which had not been there moments before, the thick bundles draped over the concrete guardrails of the walkway. One end disappeared over the edge, the origin from wherever it came hidden from view, while the other end was visibly tipped with an evil-looking metal asterix, made from crisscrossed bars adorned with spikes.

The observer would then jump back in surprise as the spike-tipped wires suddenly tightened, pulled back out over the railing. The spiked contraptions flew off the floor from the force, but their shape worked against their retreat as they embedded themselves into the handholds of the waist-high wall. Bits of concrete, paint and metal flaked off as the spikes dug in, hinting at the forces acting on the wire.

And standing where he was right in front of the now obviously grappling hooks, our hypothetical observer's last thoughts would be, "What is that roaring noise?"

The guardrail exploded, the top half of a large two meter section simply ceasing to exist from one moment to the next. A cloud of deadly concrete and metal shrapnel scythed inwards, creating large pits and craters in the opposite wall of the walkway.

The dust cloud barely had time to form before a two wheeled contraption rocketing on blinding blasts of flame roared through the newly created hole, slamming right into the opposite wall and imprinting on it yet another chunk of damage which put all the earlier ones to shame.

Expertly, a humanoid astride the new arrival twisted, and additional jets on the frame of the furious beast flared into life. It spun on one wheel, guided by the skill of the rider in the narrow confines of the walkway, before the now identifiable motorbike came to a stop.

Barely as soon as motion ceased and the flames extinguished was the vehicle abandoned, the rider simply dumped it against the wall as he jumped off in his haste. The new metal and blue arrival took five great strides before he was standing in front of one of the doors of the walkway. Without delay, the silver-clad man banged his fist loudly on the doorway of the apartment. "Simon Tama! I know you're in there! Open up! Open up Simon T…"

The shouting was abruptly truncated as the door opened, vertically. The slab of wood crashed flatly into the room, raising a cloud of dust in front of the astonished armored figure as he stared at his hand and wondering if he used a bit too much force.

"Oh. Ah, Hello." An old man looked around the corner from the inside, walking out of one of the inner rooms of the apartment. He looked at the figure in the doorway, observing the blue highlights and stylized symbol on the man's helm repeated on his chest. Recognizing the hero, he bowed.

"Welcome, Armsmaster. Hero of the Protectorate. I am honored to meet with you." The old man said in hesitant, mispronounced English with the staccato cadence of a person used to speaking in Eastern languages.

"… Who are you?" Armsmaster demanded.

"I am Isamu Shirou, honored hero."

"Why are you in here?" The emotionless follow up came immediately on the heels of the previous answer.

"I am the landlord of this apartment complex."

"Oh." The hero said, looking at the door he just broke.

The old man noticed his glance and shrugged. "Don't worry too much about that, Hero sir. As you can see…" he trailed off, as he waved a hand around the apartment complex.

Armsmaster took the invitation to look around, flipping a switch as he did so. He was immediately, nearly blinded as his helm reacted, thick bundles of status readouts highlighting the chipped flooring, the loose floor tiles, the hand printed craters on the walls, the small chunks of missing ceiling, the scratch damage all over, the gorged damage accompanying them, the structural damage within, and above all the no-longer-rectangular washing machine and fridge, obviously damaged by something extraordinary.

"Someone fought here." Armsmaster said, as he managed to switch off his helm's functionality before another block of readouts brought along a second wave of blindness.

"I wish, hero sir. If only it was so."

A pair of hidden eyes met the old wizened look. The hint was picked up on almost immediately.

"Simon Tama." Armsmaster said.

The old man nodded. "I see this. I can not kick him out fast enough."

The hero stiffened at the statement, realizing the implications immediately. "Where is Simon Tama _NOW_?" he demanded.

"I..." the old man was taken aback, "I do not know."

"Is there a forwarding address? I have urgent Official Protectorate Business with him; I must meet with him now!"

"My apologies, sir hero. I do not know… I am sorry."

"Very well," Armsmaster replied, outwardly calm.

His inner thoughts were anything but.

* * *

Moments later, a dejected hero accompanied an old man as they both slowly made their way out of the apartment.

"I will call Protectorate number when I see him", the landlord continued the rambling old men were known for, "Thankful I kick him out now. If he continue to damaging the... Nandaro! Nani ga oki teru!?"

A piece of the scorched, cracked wall decided to emphasize the old man's statement, breaking off and bouncing noisily against the armored plated shell of Armsmaster's motorbike.

Armsmaster ceased to react even as the old man turned around to look at him. "... ... Official Protectorate Business, citizen."

The old landlord gaped at the stiffly straight statue of a Hero, unable to believe what he just heard.

"I _NEED_ to find Simon Tama." The silver-clad halberd wielder continued, as if that statement had any connection with the newest devastation.

"Just... Just get out of here." the old man managed to choke out.

"Yes sir. And if you would call the Protectorate if..."

"OUT! **Get OUT**! **Out out out OUT!**"

Armsmaster walked past the landlord without any further comment.

It was really better this way.


	16. Arc 3: I'mma Hero! Setup Montage 14

**Snip #14**

"Are you seriously going out in that getup?" Tailor exclaimed as I closed the door of the second floor office.

"Why not?" I replied, fumbling with the brand new padlock I bought for my new abode.

"I wasn't joking earlier, you know."

"And?"

"I'm serious, Simon. That costume's going to be a liability."

"It's that breastplate thing again, isn't it?" I called out behind me as I continued to fumble with the padlock. "I told you earlier, as soon as I get an actual hero's armorer to help…"

"Not that, but since you brought it up; with that armor in the way, you can't even raise your arm above your head!"

"I too can raise my arms." I pouted, as I did what I said. I went back to trying to slot the lock into the hole in the metal gate right after the demonstration.

"That's because the shoulder guards are made of cloth and hard cardboard!"

"So?" I said. The whining from the bug girl was getting a little irritating. "I'll just get something tougher but similarly flexible when I commission the actual armor."

"And your helm."

"What about my helm?"

"Can you even _SEE_ out of it?"

I turned my head all the way around to look at Tailor. The helm flopped despite the straps, half-blocking my view of my partner in cape-hood. With one hand, I readjusted it back and straight, while with the other I pointed at the stylized 'Y' cut into the front.

"See? Eyeholes."

"Right," came the retort, "and tell me, how long did you take to lock your front door again?"

Wordlessly, I turned back towards the doorway, squatting down a little so as to bring my eye to the same level as the spot where the lock should go. With the helm thus balanced, my vision was much less impaired, and I completed the task effortlessly.

Maybe she had a point? Nah, I just need to adjust the straps better when I come back.

"… and what about the cape?" She had continued onwards without my attention. "It…"

"Look, Tailor Hebert," I put my foot down, turning back around to face the fashion critic. "I don't know about you, but ever since I'm young this is what I always wanted to wear if I ever become a Hero." I adjusted the helm again so as to be able to look at her right in the eye. "I _AM_ going out on this run in full costume precisely to see if this can work. So can you at least give my childhood dream a chance? A single chance, that's all I ask."

Her mouth was a good imitation of an out-of-water fish for a long moment, before she threw up both arms and turned away. "Ugggh! Do what you want! I don't care anymore."

Huh. That worked.

"Tailor."

She was mumbling as she took to the stairs in large, flat, angrily loud footsteps. "_… design is going to get him killed. At least get rid of the stupid head-mounted broomstick…_"

"Tailor?"

"_… wears a cape nowdays? Every single verified cape, EVERY SINGLE ONE in PHO told everyone else just how dangerous a piece of costume around the neck is…_"

"Tailor!" I shouted.

"Oh! Yes?" She said as she stopped walking down the stairs and turned around. The response managed to be marinated in sullen and spiced with surprise at the same time, as she frowned at me.

"Did you bring your costume?" I asked.

"No. No I didn't."

"Then, when we get outside, please run ahead of me, don't look back, and pretend you don't know me."

Her frown deepened.

"Cape identities are a thing, right?" I pre-empted her question. "You were so worried about it earlier, so I thought this might be one of those things we should be careful about."

"Ah… right." Dawning understanding wiped out the frown and the anger as she nodded. "But we can always run the other way. My house's near the running route. It wouldn't take long for me to grab my costume."

"Nah. I want to run a shorter distance today," I countered. "Plus, the Trainyard route to Capitol Hill and back again is less crowded. I don't want large groups of people to see me in the Marketplace just yet."

"Ok, Simon." She nodded, before she turned back to descent the stairs, taking the steps down two at a time.

After half a minute or so, I followed her down the stairs and out of the... and I promptly twisted my neck as the crest of my helmet hooked onto the top of the door.

Maybe she really did have a point with the helmet?

* * *

Five minutes later, we were halfway across the trainyards. And as I turned around a corner of a rusting cabin, the helm decided to turn a little bit too much yet again. I managed three or four steps, completely blind, before…

**BANG**CRASH**

… I ran into a lamppost.

I fell onto the gravel behind me.

Moments later, I could hear crunching gravel as footsteps ran up to me. "Are you all right?!" Tailor exclaimed as I saw her leaning down from a corner of what was left of my vision.

"I'm all right… I think." I said, sitting up.

"That's good. The lamppost was destroyed, so I… Simon?"

"Help me a bit, would you? I need to remove this." I realized, as I waved my arms in front of me much as a blind man does.

The helm was still blinding me. More importantly, the helm was also dented in such a way as to ensure it remained in a position which would continue to mostly blind me.

I could not continue wearing it a moment more until I repaired it.

"Are we alone?" I asked.

From the same corner of my limited vision, I saw her looking at me, before her eyes acquired that far-away look. Soon after, she nodded. "Yes, I think we're alone."

"Good." I said.

I carefully undid the strap, and pushed two fingers up from below the helm. Pushing it as wide as the bent metal could give, I removed the helm, scraping my face as I did so. An immediately apparent coolness rushed in with the helm removed. It felt good, after my face had been cooped up for so long.

"Simon…" Tailor worried beside me, looking between me and the helm in my hand even as small wings of mosquitos formed and spread out. "What about your secret identity? What are you going to wear?"

"Don't worry about it. Look." I grabbed the somewhat puffy neck of my costume, and tugged. A small pocket of the body suit came loose, material previously hidden inside a cleverly disguised pocket along the neckline. With some careful tugging, I pulled most of the material out, up and around my head.

Soon enough, my identity was safe once more. Once again, I could imagine what Tailor was seeing: my head and face was hidden behind a bright yellow skin-hugging latex head cowl, a horizontal slot outlined in red around the eyes allowing me to see, being the only exposed skin the costume allowed.

"Spartan Mode!" I shouted as I jumped to my feet, doing the hand movements of the cartoon hero's transformation sequence. "This is Sentai Spartan's level one. The helmet was supposed to represent the power upgrade crystal sphere version of this hero."

She stared at me from where she was still kneeling, with the look of those caught by surprise by some great calamity. And this time I anticipated Taylor's face-palming reaction at my transformation sequence. The girl really have not taste at all in Sentai uniforms and actions!

"Come, let's go," I interrupted her sigh. "I still want to find out how viable moving around in this bodysuit is."

"Ok. Same plan as just now?"

"Same plan."

I watched her run ahead for a bit, before I followed, holding the helm by its straps on one hand.

* * *

It was in hindsight hilarious that this occurred in the downtown areas, given we had both just ran through the gang-infested Docks and the Trainyards. But that thought would not occur to me yet, in the heat of the moment.

A moment ago, Tailor was staggering on her feet, trying to move faster in front of me even as she felt the pressure my stares into her back. The next moment, she disappeared into an alley.

By the time I reached the entrance of the alleyway, Tailor had found herself in the embrace of a young teenager, and surrounded by two more youngsters, a male and a female. And for some reason, they were all bald.

"… shaddap you hear me? If I even hear… whot?" I heard the female of the trio saying as she spotted me. Her face twisted, ugly in hatred, as she pointed the knife she was holding towards me.

"Hey, are you…" I managed, before getting interrupted.

"Get lost, yellow! 'dis's none of your business!" She spat out.

The teenager with his back to me stiffened his back straight in response to the girl's statement. He continued to hold Tailor close to him by wrapping his right arm around her neck and the other arm around her torso, as his female partner launched herself into an unbroken stream of expletives beside him.

"_Shit. It's the yellow chink in the sweatshirt?_" Armlock guy whispered.

"_No. That bastard doesn't come out at this time. Just some weird shit with a yellow costume._" the remaining young adult whispered back.

"_Oh, good… Wait, wait. Costume? Shit, he's a cape?_"

"_Never seen him before. And trust me, we're ok._"

"_But…_"

"_Trust me, been doing this for a while. It's not the first some idiot thinks he can scare us Empire off with a flashy costume. And even if he has powers, I have this…_"

They both nodded at something.

"Hey, shithead! You listening to me?!" the female teenager had stepped around the others in the narrow alley, and was now facing me. The knife she held was now somewhat close to my breastplate.

I looked at her. "Ya." I nodded.

"Then get lost!"

"Ok." I said, "The Miss over there, you coming?"

"Nope. She's with us." The guy facing me shouted.

I could hear choking sounds as he spoke, as Armlock guy flexed his arm to prevent Tailor from making a sound. I could also hear the soft humming of the insects as they gathered.

I frowned.

"I don't think she's with you," I said. "Let her go."

"Last warning, dick! Get lost!" the female said. And in odds to the words she just uttered, the bald teenager lunged, her knife aimed at my face.

So much for a peaceful resolution.

I punched.

She dropped to the floor, as if her strings just got cut.

"Holy!" the trusty bald young adult shouted, as he revealed what he had been hiding from my sight.

I jumped. Thrusting my foot against the alley's wall to the right, I flipped.

The gun was raised only to aim at an empty alleyway's entrance. I was already above them, upside down, my head almost touching theirs.

I punched.

I landed right in front of Armlock kid, as the other bald teen flopped against him, on his one way trip towards the ground. My cape fluttered majestically onto the floor behind me. Perfect.

I turned around to face the last kid, making sure to throwing my cape dramatically behind me.

The wide-eyed hostage taker had already taken out a knife while I was not looking, and was pointing it at an equally wide-eyed Tailor. "Don't move! I…"

He slumped. I held onto his knife hand with my left as he slid off Tailor.

* * *

She was still taking large gulps of air as she sat on the curb of the main street. I could not figure out whether it was exhaustion from running earlier or the excitement moment ago.

"You all right?" I asked again for the third time, from where I was seated beside her.

"Yeah. Yes." Tailor finally replied. She stood up from the leaning posture she had earlier in a smooth motion, a motion I realized too late was also spitting in the thug's direction.

The downed person who had held her by the neck did not even react.

"Fucker," she said, loudly. "I should drown you in insects. Maybe that'll…"

"Calm down, Tailor," I said, reinforcing my statement with a calming hand on her shoulder, "I already took care of it."

She took a few deep breaths, calming down before she looked at me again. "You're amazing, you know that?"

"Thanks." I smiled.

"And all I did was panic. God, I'm so weak."

"You're not weak Tailor. Just inexperienced. And untrained."

"Un… so, if I ran just like you, I can do the amazing things you did just now?"

"Yup. Cross my heart and everything."

She smiled at my answer, a face-splitting pleased expression. And then she snorted.

I smiled a bit wider.

We started laughing there on the street side, an odd sight to the bystanders; a girl dressed in baggy clothes and a man in a Sentai Spartan costume.

We were still laughing when the alarms started.


	17. Arc 4: The Bank Job action scene 15

*** The Bank Job action scene ***

**Snip #15**

"This!" I exclaimed as the alarm continued to ring. "I know this! It's an Endbringer alarm!"

Tailor Hebert looked at me before her eyes widened as the idea sank in.

"An Endbringer's coming here!" I continued. "An **END**Bringer! It's going to burn Brockton Bay to the ground! Or sink it! Or… or… do horrible things to it!"

I could imagine what it would do here. I could picture the devastation.

I could remember my hometown, which was not even in Leviathan's path. The empty lots where there used to be rows of houses. The mud and silt everywhere. Everything, buried as if it never existed.

I noticed movement, and looked up in reaction. I watched as Tailor walked a few steps away from me, enough to bring her to the entrance of the alleyway. She calmly looked out into the streets beyond and then looked back at me again.

I would be lying if I said I was just as calm as that girl. I would be lying if I said I was even half as calm as that girl.

If I was honest with myself, I would also be lying if I said I was calm at all.

"Don't you get it?!" I continued to panic, moving forward and grabbing onto her. I shook my startled partner as if to emphasize my point as I continued talking, "I can't beat an Endbringer! Nobody can! Entire groups of capes get destroyed by Endbringers all the time! What am I going to do!? Where am I going to go!? I most certainly can't scratch him! What am I going to do!? Where the hell am I… what?"

My near panic ground to a halt as Tailor slowly and deliberately facepalmed.

I must have perceived something very wrongly.

Panic replaced itself with confusion. I mean, I was right, wasn't I? Endbringers, you know? Big killing things that ends things? Unstoppable rampaging monsters? They're always Horrible, with a capital H, yes? How could I be wrong? How **could** I be possibly…

"Simon," Tailor spoke through her fingers. I could hear the sigh accompanying her words, "an Endbringer alarm is a loud, multiple klaxon system installed all over the city. They go 'whhhooooo', and are much louder. This is just a set of ringing bells."

Oh. "Oh." Oh boy.

I scratched the back of my head with one hand as I felt my expression change from horrified to sheepish.

"Erm… ok." Do I ever felt as silly as I do now?

Tailor reacted, looking out from between her fingers with an annoyed expression.

"Sorry about just now." I continued.

"Are you seriously this bad?"

"Erm, what?"

"You don't know anything about capes, their rules and the PRT, and mistook a simple bell for an Endbringer alarm. And despite that, you want to fight all the villains and clean up Brockton Bay?"

"Yes." I said immediately. There was no shame in telling the truth.

"How!? How can you do that when you don't know anything?" she hissed.

"That's actually why I need your help." I countered. "I know I don't know anything here in America, and how your government does things. Especially the way you deal with capes over here.

"The Sentai-Rangers, the Red Storms, Silver Kaze, the Black Masks, to name a few groups and solos 'masks' back in Cape Capitol, Kyushu, it's so very different from where I come from. Back there, wearing a costume there was … showmanship, advertisement. An advertisement of purpose, a sign of being assigned a great duty, a declaration of being selected for something greater than all of humanity. 'Here I am, so and so! Lay praises upon me, for I am given the mandate of heaven itself!' And the people will do so, holding them up on a pedestal, with almost religious fervor for some."

"But the flip side of that comes with this overwhelming need to serve, to sacrifice all of themselves for the needs of everyone else. The capes back where I come from were willing to throw everything aside to help the people, and I mean everything, to serve however they perceived the public needed their help. Sometimes, they will even throw away the very concept of good and bad if the crime is heinous enough. Even the Yakuza capes will help the police fight crime, you know?"

"Over here, the idea, the feeling of having powers is so… different. So individual, prideful and… alone. The culture here and the capes themselves, I just don't get it. That's why I need a local guide." I finished, gesturing at Tailor. "That's why I asked for your help."

"Wait, back up. 'Yakuza' is the Japanese name for organized crime, is it?"

"Yes."

"The capes of **criminal syndicates** help the police fight crime?" She said, an astonished look on her face.

"Yes. It's a bit funny sometimes. And not all of them, not all the time, but it happens."

"But… they're criminals!"

"Tailor," I said, suppressing the lecturing tone trying to make its way into my voice, "When you get to my age, when you learn more about the world around you, you'll find out that the world is not colored in black and white. You really can't judge people only by their labels. Just because they're called 'bad guys' does not mean they're really bad."

"That, it still doesn't make sense!"

"It wouldn't, not for a while." I replied wisely, before changing the subject. "Anyway, I hope the bell's not something urgent. What's that about?"

"Oh, it's from Brockton Bay Central Bank. I think they're getting robbed in broad daylight."

We looked at each other. The alarm continued to ring.

"What?! You got to say these things earlier!" I exclaimed, turning around. "Let's go!"

"Let's… wait, what? No!"

I jarred to a stop just before I exited the alleyway. Turning my head around, I asked. "No?"

"It's a bank robbery!" she began, "There're criminals in there! We can't just barge in there without a plan!"

"Of course we can! Let's go!" I was eager to get started.

Oh look, another facepalm.

"Ok, what am I missing?" I asked, putting away my annoyance for another time.

"It's a bank robbery, so there obviously are…?"

"People who need to be saved!"

"And robbing the bank are…?"

"Villains who need to be beaten!"

"And they may have…?"

"Knifes. Maybe guns. Sometimes a superpower or two may be involved."

There was a pause, as a frown became puzzlement, "… And if you storm in there?"

"They'll either run away, or fight me." I replied confidently.

Tailor's second palm joined her first, on her face. "_It's like herding a __**baby**__. An __**idealistic BABY**__. Like talking to… to… to __**Greg-lite**__. Oh god, deliver me from this madness._ Look, Simon," she put down both hands, looking at me straight in the eye as she spoke, "have you considered that they would harm the hostages if you kick down the bank's front door?"

"They wouldn't dare!" I exclaimed, horrified.

"That is exactly what will happen if you bash your way inside!" Tailor continued my education loudly. "Brockton Bay's full of capes, so it's very likely they'll bring some of their own, or something to deal. And either way, they will keep their hostages close as leverage! They may even have a bomb in there! We can't just barge in blindly! If we do so…"

I must admit, the thought had never really crossed my mind. But now that the possibility was presented to me, it was clear as day what the consequences could be. I mean sure, that had always been an option for the desperate. But…

I felt homesick.

"Ok, ok." I surrendered. "Criminals here are vicious bastards. But there's still that robbery. I doubt even American capes will let villains get away with this, right? What do they do in these situations?"

"… I don't know." she replied, stumped. "They… plan on what to do next?"

"Well then, let's plan. What are **we** going to do?"

There was another short pause of ringing-interrupted silence as we pondered. Then Tailor suggested, "well, there _are_ my bugs…"

* * *

Five minutes later, we were still hidden in that alleyway. It had also started raining.

And I had never felt as useless as… no. There were a few instances where I felt worse. But this certainly ranked in the top ten.

"I think I got it." Tailor said beside me, her eyes closed in concentration as she tapped on a map she had drawn using the alleyway's garbage and debris. "All the people I can feel have been moved to the bank's main hall, here. Most of them are lying down on the ground along the walls. I'm guessing those are likely hostages. Only seven people are doing anything at all, four in the vault here, and three moving in and over the hostages. I'm guessing those are the villains who are robbing the bank."

"It's easy to tell powers are involved just by looking at the shadows covering the windows. Also, there's this funny thing floating above the main hall, here, and also three more gigantic things moving up and down the bank. There will always be two staying in the center of the room, here and here, and they occasionally switch with the monster in the vault."

She opened her eyes. "Assuming different powers for different capes, we have at least Shadow and Monsters, maybe more. We're going to have to assume seven different powers to be on the safe side."

This certainly ranked in the top five of me feeling useless.

"So, any plans?" she asked, looking expectantly at me, all out of odds from her earlier confident leadership.

"How long can you keep track of them?" I asked. "And their hostages?"

"I have tagged them with houseflies. So, as long as they're in range I can sense all of them, all day long."

"Your range, how far is that?"

"Maybe the block behind it, or maybe a little more. It depends."

"Ok, then we wait. Our job here should be helping the innocents," I shuddered as I spoke, thinking of what could have happened, "and not beating the villains. We will wait for an opportune time to strike.

"I don't know how good I really am against a cape right now, so seven possibly powered opponents may be a little too much for me. Maybe when they're leaving the bank, we might get lucky and spot them splitting up or something. I just hope they do not take some of the hostages with them."

"That would suck." Tailor agreed. Her eyes closed again as she suddenly concentrated once more. "Si… err… Mister Spartan? Something's coming. They just landed in front of the bank. I think… there are five of them."

I carefully looked out of the alleyway, shoving the annoyance of Tailor's corruption of Sentai Spartan's name to one side.

Tailor was correct.

From the narrow view I had, I could see three of them. An obviously good guy dressed all in a white skintight costume with interlocking panels of glossy white body armor. To his right was a tanned youngster with a rust red costume overlaid with a shield emblem and with silver-white trims. Further to the right was an even younger child in a white and green costume with a skirt, full of wavy swooping lines.

"The wards are here." Tailor said from where she was, looking over my shoulder.

"Wards? What are…"

"Please tell me you at least know who the Wards are?" There was annoyance mixed into the question.

"I know them." I looked at Tailor; her annoyance still showed on her face. I continued, "Your version of a powered youth group, attached to the Protectorate. There are five of them in the local Wards branch. That's Clockblocker, he freezes things. The girl's Vista, she stretches space. And that's Aegis, the current leader. I don't see Shadow Stalker and Kid Win."

"The one with the red costume's Aegis, not Clockblocker."

"... right. But what are they doing here? Your Protectorate is in the habit of exposing kids to dangerous situations?"

"I donno. Practice for their future jobs in the Protectorate, maybe?"

"Never mind, I'll ask more about this later. How are our villains reacting?"

"Badly, I think. I can't hear them clearly, but there seems to be some loud sounds between small groups of them. Oh, and some of the hostages are moving. The villains are dragging them to the front door… There's some kind of speech… Here they come."

I heard something slammed from around the corner. Moments later, I saw eight people coming into view, running down the stairs of the bank. Aegis exchanged a look with Clockblocker, who signaled back for a moment. The armored teen turned back, "Everyone leaving the bank! Get down on the ground now!"

Moments later, a pebble barely larger than my palm struck the child leader square in the middle of his helmet. He fell.

Unnatural darkness covered everything immediately after.

"Shit." I said. I had seen that shadow before.

"Shit." My partner in heroism mirrored. "Six of the villains just made it out of the bank, and their monsters too. They're going to fight the wards!"

"They're going to get outnumbered, even without Aegis being taken out." I pointed out. "Wait, isn't Aegis's powers being strong and able to survive anything?"

"I don't know? He's ok? Maybe he fell in surprise?"

"Where are the bank robbers right now?" I asked.

"Erm… about… there, roughly." She pointed, before she realized where she was pointing. "They're already in the Ward's ranks!"

"Ok then." I stood up. "Tailor, you don't have a costume, so stay here and stay hidden. It's time for plan B."

"What's plan B?"

"We improvise." I said to her. And then I was gone from the alleyway.

* * *

AN:_Before you start, I did not forget BROWBEAT._


End file.
